


Thinking of You

by Rheaird_of_Life



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, if you think otherwise, very serious piece of art here people, you are dead wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-05-19 22:05:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 61,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rheaird_of_Life/pseuds/Rheaird_of_Life
Summary: The Twelve are after Villanelle's head, and the only one who can save her is the same one who stabbed her in the heart.Features: The Many Disguises of Villanelle, The Batcave, Red Wine and Feelings





	1. Batman, Blind Birds and Buns

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all did some good old fashioned begging, so here you go!

This latest client is driving her insane.

The man doesn't have a damn clue what he's saying, what he wants done. But he's utterly convinced that every word coming out of his mouth is liquid honey. She tries to make a suggestion, to redirect the path of this idiotic conference, but he won't let her get a word in edgewise.

She wants to take her pen right now and ram it into his eye.

The sad thing is that he is actually one of her better clients. At least he doesn't call her sexist names all the time. Like sweetie, or darling, or the absolute worst...pumpkin.

In short, her new job is less than ideal.

But it pays the bills, and after gallivanting all across Europe in search of a certain someone, it's necessary.

Once his time is up and she finally manages to usher him out, Keiko makes an appearance. Like she always does. She's dressed like a goddess and Eve is well, not. She's presentable sure, business casual, but her hair is far from tamed and she could really do with a manicure. And a waxing. And well, _everything_ really.

Keiko leans against the door frame. “Nice work today.”

“Sure,” she says, putting the would be murder weapon, the pen, down. It rolls a short distance away across the highly varnished conference table.

“You want to come over tonight? Hernando's making Lobster Roulade.”

God, that's one of her favourites. Practically everything Chef Fuentes makes is her favourite.

“Tempting, but no,” she grumbles. She picks up the rather large folder and drops it with a thud back onto the table. “I've got too much homework.”

“You are getting a bit behind, aren't you?”

And it's not said in reproach, but rather in amusement.

“You'll get the hang of this eventually, Eve.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

Keiko smiles and bids her goodnight.

They had bonded over the loss of their husbands. Yes, Niko was still alive...as far as she knew...but she hadn't seen him in months now. Not since they signed the divorce papers. Eve assumes Keiko has given her this job out of pity, because she seems so pathetic these days. It's _definitely_ not because she's actually good at it. If Keiko actually knew the truth of Bill's demise, Eve's sure she would never talk to her again. Never let her hold Ruri again. She feels damn guilty every time she does, but she thinks of it as some kind of penance for her sins...and her failures.

The latest of which has made its presence known again.

Eve groans as she notices the familiar rectangular shape peeking out of her mailbox. It had been almost two weeks this time and she had begun to hope that they would finally stop coming. That Villanelle had finally grown bored and given up.

But apparently not.

With a deep sigh, she opens the mailbox and pulls it out. As usual, the action causes a whiff of that cursed scent to reach her nostrils. Every single time Villanelle thickly coats these in well... _Villanelle_ , just to make absolutely certain even a blind bird would know who sent it.

Subtle, she was not.

This postcard, from Poland, is just like all the others.

It simply read, ' _Thinking of you, x_ '.

There was never anything else, just that.

Why? To taunt her, she supposes. To make Eve think that at any moment, Villanelle will appear on her doorstep and hand deliver the next one. Except, instead of a postcard, she'll be holding a knife, the same exact one Eve stabbed her with, still bloody and dripping from the last time it was used...

Eve shakes the oft imagined nightmare and pushes into her crappy apartment. Well, it's not crappy so much as cluttered. She hasn't bothered to unpack in all of these months since she first returned to London and separated from Niko. She keeps meaning to but it never seems like a priority. Eve expects that any day now Villanelle will come to put her out of her misery. So why bother?

She drops her bag laden with her homework by the door and moves into the still as of yet unused guest room. She grabs a bit of tape, and adds the postcard to the lot of them on the once blank wall here. There are sixteen now. All arranged chronologically from the earliest to the most recent. She's not sure why she's keeping these anymore. It's not as though she needs the reminder that Villanelle is still out there. Eve thinks maybe it's because she wants her own version of Anna's love letters. They are a hell of a lot less articulate, but they are better than nothing she supposes.

There is another reason too. These cards are a roadmap so to speak, to Where On Earth Is Villanelle?

She's not trying to track her down anymore, she gave up on that ages ago.

But from what Eve has gathered with her limited resources, every postcard marks Villanelle's latest hit for The Twelve. At least, she's been able to confirm that someone influential has recently died in an... _interesting_ way in every country that she has received a postcard from.

Eve thinks it's almost like Villanelle is bragging. Like, look at me! I'm still so good at murder! Even after what you did to me, you bitch!

Eve pours herself a large helping of red wine and sips at it while her leftover takeout of Tikka Masala heats up in the microwave. Niko was the real cook of the household, and without him, she's likely to poison herself. Better to eat way too much sodium than to risk her own cooking.

Eve plops the still somewhat gelatinous and unappealing dish onto her plate. Then she opens her laptop and scans through the Polish headlines, more or less able to read them without needing to use _Google Translate_. She frowns when she doesn't immediately hit upon anything relevant. This sort of thing is usually splashed all over the local papers. Undeterred, she keeps looking for that aha moment. She's certain that at any moment it will strike her like lightning.

By the time she's finished eating, she's forced to come to one conclusion.

No one's been killed in Poland recently.

Not by Villanelle anyway.

So why did she send the postcard?

Eve thinks about it for a few more seconds and then freaks out, jumping out of her seat and knocking over her chair. She scrambles for her phone and hastily dials Niko's number.

“Pick up, pick up,” she mutters to herself as it continues to ring.

Then, “ _Hey, it's Niko. Leave me a message. Then text me to tell me you have because I always forget to listen to them_.”

Except, Eve's already hanging up before the damn thing finishes, grabbing her keys and heading out the door.

If anything happens to him too, she will never forgive herself.

Would Villanelle really wait this long to exact her revenge?

Eve is about to find out.

She pounds on his door for nearly a minute before she realizes that his car isn't in the driveway and he isn't even home.

“Shit,” she curses. She jumps back into the car and heads to the community centre. She hasn't been here in ages, not since her blow out with Niko. Under normal circumstances everyone's stares would be unnerving, but as it is, she couldn't care less.

“Where's Niko?” she demands of them.

Finally Dom points towards the bathroom and Eve marches right over and barges her way in without a second thought.

“Jesus Christ, woman!” exclaims Niko, startled mid-stream. He quickly gets things under control, but not before making a bit of a mess.

“Oh thank God, you're okay!” she rejoices, giving him a sideways bear hug.

The other guy in the room drying his hands gives them a bewildered look on the way out.

“I'd be a lot better if you weren't infringing on my privacy.”

They both look down and well, _that_ was a sight she hadn't expected to see ever again. Apparently she had a knack for catching men unawares with their junk out. But at least it was still very much intact, and-

_Focus, Eve!_

“Oh, right, uh, I'm just gonna go over here now,” says Eve, quickly letting go and backing up. She is feeling like a total moron now. What else was new?

Niko finishes up and then turns to face her. “So?”

“I called but you didn't pick up.”

Niko gives her a puzzled look. “Why would I, Eve? We haven't talked since...you know.” He glances to the floor. It could really do with a cleaning now. He looks back up. “Why are you here?”

And shit, she really didn't want to get into this, not again. Not here.

“I uh...I...just wanted to know if...you were going to Bill's memorial service!” she gushes out randomly. Internally, cringing.

He gives her a strange look. “That's not for a few months yet.”

“I know...but Keiko wants to know how many people are going to be there. You know how she is...she likes everything to be in order as soon as possible.”

It was a wonder that she was continuing to put up with Eve's lack of work ethic.

Well attuned to her bullshit by now he asks, “Why are you really here, Eve? Why did you come barging in here?” He gives her a dark look. “Is this about her?”

“No, no, of course not!” she flounders, backing further away from him.

“ _Eve_ ,” he warns.

Predictably she cracks. “You're not in danger! I don't think! I mean, if she wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now,” she adds unhelpfully.

_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_

“Just...go back to playing Bridge and forget I was ever here!”

Then she runs away before Niko can cause an even bigger scene amongst all of his friends and students.

Feeling like the biggest idiot imaginable, she bangs her head against the steering wheel until she actually manages to hurt herself. Just a bit, but enough to not want to do that anymore.

She sighs, starts up the car and heads home.

She's up half the night staring at and examining the stupid postcard.

There doesn't seem to be anything special about it.

Was this just Villanelle's latest form of torture? Making her think there was meaning where there wasn't any? Was her grand plan to slowly but surely make her go insane? If so, she was well on her way to achieving her goal.

Delirious, she calls up Kenny. Her go to guy. Her only guy really.

“It's four in the morning,” he groans. “I shouldn't have even picked up. If this is about those damn postcards again, Eve, I swear to-”

“It doesn't make sense!” she laments. “Why would she send me this one if she didn't kill anyone?!”

Kenny sighs. She thinks she hears Elena sigh too. “Because she's a psychopath, Eve. She gets off on messing with people.”

“But-”

“I'm going to hang up now.”

“Kenny, _please_!”

Kenny sighs once more. More of a yawn really. “Bring it round. _Tomorrow_. Or well, no earlier than seven. I'll have another look. But this is the _last_ time, Eve. I mean it.”

“Okay, okay. Thank you, thank you!”

She spends the next three hours drinking coffee and completely unraveling before going over to Kenny's place. It's considerably nicer than her own. The benefits of working for an up and coming tech company.

Elena opens the door for her, coffee in hand and says, “Well, don't you look like a right disaster.”

Eve ignores her and hurries into the kitchen to find Kenny reading the paper on his tablet, and sipping away at his own rather large cup of coffee. He holds out his hand and Eve promptly sticks the cursed postcard in it. Kenny looks at the front side for a few seconds, then flips it over and does the same. Then he repeats the process a few times.

“ _Well_?” she asks impatiently, hands twitching at her sides.

He looks up at her and says, “I think you're on to something this time.”

“Really?” she says breathlessly, as if everything in the world is now righted.

“No,” he smirks into his mostly finished cup of coffee and she can feel Elena doing the same behind her.

She scowls at both of them, snatching the card out of Kenny's hand. Apparently a little too roughly. She's just torn it in two.

“Oh for crying out loud!” she complains, as if it is some sort of prized possession and not the bane of her existence.

Rather than apologize for ruining her property, Kenny's intensely looking at his piece of the card. She doesn't immediately understand what's so fascinating until she notices the slight gleam on the new end.

“What is that?” she wonders aloud, pointing.

“I'm not sure,” frowns Kenny. He gets up and moves towards his private study, his _Batman_ housecoat trailing behind him. She follows him and Elena follows her and soon they're all three of them in the dark room, the only lights from the vast array of computer monitors.

Kenny goes over to the high tech scanner that reminds her a bit of the medical devices on _Star Trek_.

“Give me your bit too,” he says, placing his half into the scanner.

She does and he closes the machine up, the scan already in progress. They wait for a bit, a lifetime, an entire five seconds, until it's completed.

There's a brief analysis and then, “Hmm,” says Kenny, hunched in front of the screen.

The readout is gibberish to her.

“Hmm? What does _hmm_ mean, Kenny?” she says, fingers twitching again.

God, she had waaay too much coffee and waaay too little sleep.

“It's encoded,” he says after an elongated beat.

“What does it _say_?”

“That'll take some time to work out,” he says, getting seated now.

“I'll put another pot on then,” says Elena at the same time Kenny asks her to. He's already too absorbed to even notice though. “Come along then,” she says to Eve, gently taking her arm. “Best leave him to it.” She smirks. “He's just entered what I like to call, the Kone. You know, like zone, but-”

“How long do you think it'll take?” she cuts off.

“Hard to say,” responds Elena, as she prepares another pot. “It could be a few minutes or a few hours or a few-”

“Do you think the other ones are also encoded?!” she half yells.

“Uh, no,” says Elena. “We already scanned the last two-”

“We should probably double check them anyway!”

And before Elena can get another word in edgewise, Eve is already out the door.

She's almost back home when Kenny calls.

Almost immediately after pressing speakerphone he says, “It's a location.”

“Where?”

“Not too far from here.”

“Where?”

“You should come back, Eve, let us figure this out a bit mo-”

“ _Where_?!”

“Bletcham,” he responds obediently.

And of fucking course Oksana would choose _that_ place again.

Eve performs a reckless u-turn, nearly causing an accident and heads back the other way, towards the M1. It's rush hour so traffic is the absolute worst, and what should've taken only about an hour and a half ends up taking her nearly double.

She's starving by the time she gets there, and she really has to pee, but she isn't about to stop now, so she heads to the forest, to the place where she first had a stand off with Villanelle. Where Villanelle had first threatened not only Eve's life, but _both_ of their lives. She wonders if much the same thing is about to occur.

She pulls up to the gated road and looks out towards the rolling hills, this time in full bloom. There's no sign of anyone coming up them this time. No sign of anything at all. The same thing holds true for the rest of the road. She wonders if she made a mistake, if Villanelle had meant the house instead. If Villanelle was even here at all, or if she was just messing with Eve and sending her on a wild goose chase.

“I've gone insane,” she mutters to herself, banging her head on the steering wheel again. “Mission accomplished, you dick.”

Then the back door clicks open and closes. Eve freezes mid-bang and slowly rises to glance through the rear view mirror.

She blinks in confusion. A trendy looking, brown haired, bearded and mustached man in aviators is sitting there. Complete with man bun. A hipster.

 _What the hell_? she says to herself. _Am I hallucinating now as well?_

But then the man removes his glasses to reveal those cat like eyes, the same ones that have haunted her dreams these past seven months.

“Hello, Eve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, birds have no sense of smell, or very little.
> 
> I expect the next chapter will be purely E and V. So yay! Not sure if I'll switch POV.  
> I have some general ideas of things that can happen but no concrete plan. So this could end up rather horribly. Continue at your own risk!
> 
> So I've also got an AU in mind which is inconvenient cuz I kind of want to work on that one instead. But probably what will happen is that I will work on this one until I get stuck/bored and then start on the other one...and then come back to this one lol.
> 
> Anyway, time for me to enjoy some Sense8! I'm sure it'll be epic! And if you picked up the nod to that show in this, well done. ;)


	2. Everything is Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight wait guys. The more I wrote this, the more I realized that I really did need to plot it out ahead of time. Or at least, some of it. Still no clue how long it'll end up being. Definitely more than 5 this time.

She strokes the sides of her upper lip, “Do you like my moustache? It's not as nice as your ex-husbands, but it is still pretty good, no?”

Eve gives her a bewildered look through the mirror, like that was not the first thing she was expecting out of her mouth.

Good. She likes it when Eve doesn't know what's going on. Serves her right.

Eve's eyes flit towards the glove compartment box and it doesn't take a genius to know what's in there. “Learning from Konstantin, I see,” she tsks. She catches Eve's wary gaze through the mirror again, her own, direct and foreboding. “I wouldn't recommend it, Eve.”

Eve's gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles are white. Her left foot is tapping in place. From nervous energy or something else Oksana's not sure. But she has a pretty good feeling that if she yells, _boo_!, right now Eve will piss herself. It's a tantalizing prospect...except then the car will smell of urine and she has no desire to smell that again any time soon. She got enough of it in prison...and worse.

Eve swallows and then, “Are you gonna kill me?”

And Oh My God, how annoying. Eve says it like it is their version of hello.

It annoys her for another reason too, and subconsciously she finds herself rubbing at her abdomen. She notices Eve watching her hand, realizes what she is doing and promptly stops, forming a fist.

“Is that the only thing you know to ask me?” she scowls slightly. Eve doesn't respond so Oksana rolls her eyes. She leans back in the middle seat, utterly relaxed, at complete odds to Eve. “I could've killed you months ago, Eve. You are very easy to track.”

Eve seems offended at first but then seems to agree with this assessment. She also seems to be calming down slightly, her grip less deathly. Her foot is still tapping away though. It is starting to get a bit irritating.

“Why didn't you? Kill me, I mean?”

Oksana glances at her fingernails apparently fascinated. They were immaculate for once. Often they were chipped or bloody. Or both. “I had more important things to do.”

Eve doesn't look convinced, and damn her, what does she know?

It's quiet for a moment and then, “Oksana,” starts Eve, looking at her earnestly now. “I-”

“Are you hungry, Eve?” she asks, once again confusing the hell out of her.

She has a pretty good idea what Eve was about to say. And she has no desire to hear it.

“I...no...I'm good,” says Eve, an obvious lie.

“Are you sure? Because there's a lovely pub just up the road. They have wonderful juicy burgers and delicious ice cream sundaes and-”

A split second later Eve's stomach gurgles loudly. She's embarrassed so Oksana laughs. She gestures in the space between them, “Drive.”

Eve hesitates a moment but then puts the car in gear. They drive in silence for a short while and once again Eve tries to apologize.

“You know I didn't mean it, right?”

Oksana closes her eyes and does the stupid counting exercise Konstantin was always trying to get her to do, so she would stop being naughty on a whim. It rarely works, but on this particular occasion it does.

She opens her eyes to find Eve's again, pleading.

Oksana glances out the window. “I think I will get the sausages.”

And thankfully Eve finally drops it. At least for now.

They arrive at the pub, _The Caldecotte_ , a few minutes later. She gets out first, putting her sunglasses back on. Eve turns off the car, then fiddles with her hair in the mirror. It's amusing to watch since there's no way she can fix it with just her hands. Not that Oksana thinks there is anything wrong with her hair. As far as she has always been concerned, the bigger, the better.

Her fingers twitch slightly, remembering what it felt like that one time Eve allowed her caress. Quickly, she shoves her hands into her pockets. Since she is wearing men's jeans right now, this is easily accomplished. This was the reason she mostly wore dresses... so she wouldn't be continuously irritated by the too small pockets...and having no room to store her play things.

She was armed of course. She wasn't stupid. She wouldn't be making that mistake again.

Finally, Eve gives up and gets out as well. And for the first time since the... _incident_ , they are face to face. On the one hand, it is good that her hands are currently contained, or she might feel the urge to throttle her. On the other hand, it is bad because she only has to move her fingers over slightly and she will be gripping the end of the needle.

Under different circumstances she would be unabashedly perusing her figure, a refresher for their lengthy separation. As it is, she barely spares a glance at her. But it is enough. For the first time she can say Eve really does not look so amazing. She didn't think it was possible, but here they were.

“Is my hair okay?” asks Eve hopefully.

“You look like shit,” she says helpfully.

Eve's face falls and Oksana feels pleased but also a very small, tiny bit bad. She doesn't like making normally beautiful women feel bad about themselves, but well, Eve deserves it. Better Oksana insults her than stabs her.

Without further ado they make their way into the pub. Automatically, annoyingly, she holds the door open for Eve. There's something about being dressed like a man that makes her more courteous. She doesn't know why, it just does. Maybe she's seen one too many old fashioned movies?

They're barely in the door before the owner, Melvin, is upon them. He can be rather annoying but she likes him anyway. Mostly because he feeds her.

“Tony!”

“Melvin!”

They do finger guns at each other.

“Back again, I see,” he says to her with a smile. They shake hands like they are old chums. “How the heck are you doing today, Tony?”

“Smashing, my good man, utterly smashing!” she replies in her deepest man voice. Her go to British accent is harder to come by in this register, but she thinks she pulls it off pretty well regardless. “How the heck are _you_ doing?”

“Fantastic, just fantastic!” He looks to Eve, then back to her, raises his hand to the side of his mouth and not so subtly says, “And who's the lucky lady _today_?”

Melvin elbows her in the ribs and she has to poke her finger on the end of the needle to stop herself from punching him in the face.

Eve just looks between them in a bewildered manner. Very good.

“If I told you that, I'd have to kill you,” she responds, equally unsubtle.

To this, Melvin breaks out into laughter, then ushers them towards their table, her usual place in the side booth. It provides the best view of the vicinity and alerts her to any unwanted guests.

She tells herself it's out of instinct alone and nothing more that makes her place her hand on Eve's lower back. Like the door. Eve stiffens immediately though, so she takes her hand away.

“Well, I'll leave you to it,” winks Melvin as they sit down.

“How often do you come here, _Tony_?” mutters Eve once they are free of him. “And who are all these women?”

She thinks Eve sounds a little jealous. She likes that Eve sounds a little jealous.

Oksana looks at her smugly. “My, my, Eve,” she says in her normal voice, “if I didn't know any better, I'd think you sound-”

“I'm _not_ jealous,” interjects Eve before she can finish. “I'm just...confused.” She huffs. “Why am I here? Why,” she gestures up and down to her face and attire, “ _that_?”

Eve makes a face, as if she doesn't appreciate how studly she is right now. Oksana tries not to feel a little disappointed. She thought she was looking amazing. As always.

_It is impossible to please her_ , she decides. _That is the only reason she dislikes my look_.

Oksana smiles to cover up her disappointment. She slides the menu towards her. “Business on an empty stomach is a great sin. That's what Konstantin always said.”

It was true but she was also asking to see if she would get a reaction from Eve. A hint. Oksana wasn't sure if she had actually killed him or not. The official report was that he was dead. But she hadn't _intended_ to kill him, so she was skeptical. Then again, she _had_ intended to kill Nadia...and never mind.

As predicted, Eve does react. She's gone utterly rigid. At first Oksana thinks this is confirmation that Konstantin is indeed still alive, but then she notices that Eve's foot is still tapping away.

She sighs internally. “The bathroom is just over there,” she points. “I know you've been _dying_ to go. So go.”

Eve doesn't need to be given permission twice before practically bolting to the restroom.

Oksana takes the opportunity to scan her environment, like she always does. There are only a few other patrons in at the moment, all of which she could dispatch of with minimal effort. None of them are doing anything interesting so she checks her watch, an expensive thing made out of wood.

It is four minutes to ten thirty now. Eve better hurry up.

When Eve finally comes back, she's much more composed than she has been thus far. Good. They have business to discuss and she doesn't need Eve distracting her with all of her fidgeting.

“So, what can I get you today?” asks their waitress. Her name tag reads Mary. She's a fat, ugly woman. It's too bad, really. Oksana would've liked to flirt with her just to see Eve's reaction. But she can't bring herself to do it. The woman reminds her too much of Inga. And something tells her Mary would be just as uneasily seduced. Even if she does look like a _sexy_ man right now.

“I'll get the honey sausages and poached eggs, all you can eat,” she says with a smile.

“Oh, I'm sorry, sir, those are breakfast items. We stop serving those at 10:30,” says Mary, pointing to the clock.

It reads 10:32. She looks to her watch. It reads 10:28.

Obviously, she is correct and the pub is wrong.

“But the Gammon Steak is equally as good.”

“I don't want the Gammon Steak,” she answers angrily, nearly forgetting to put on her man voice. She grips her fork. “It is shit.” She has no idea if this is true or not. “I want the all you can eat sausages!”

“I'm sorry you feel that way, sir, but like I said, we stop serving breakfast items at 10:30.”

“Where's Melvin?” she asks, glancing around. “I want to speak with him.”

“Who?”

And wow. She is dumb. Like so dumb. “Melvin, your _owner_.”

“Oh, you mean, Mr. Marshel.” Mary looks around too. “He's probably in the back.”

“Well? Aren't you going to go get him?”

She is almost out of patience now. She can't stand stupid people.

“If he's in the back it means he's busy on the phone. And we're under strict orders not to disturb him then. So, I'm afraid my hands are tied.”

She's on the verge of stabbing her in her fat thigh when she feels someone's hand over top her fist. Oksana blinks through her fury and looks down. Then she looks over at Eve, who is smiling nervously at her.

“It's okay, Tony,” she says slowly. “You can get that another time. There's always tomorrow.”

But no, there isn't. This is the last time she is going to be able to get it.

She's about to say as much when Eve caresses the top of her hand with her thumb. Unbidden, Oksana's fingers loosen slightly. Realizing this, Eve does it again and again until Oksana finally lets go of the fork. Oksana pulls back and crosses her arms, now in a bit of a sulk.

Mary stares at her, completely oblivious to the peril she was in.

“We'll get two orders of Gammon Steak,” says Eve, keeping an eye on her.

She hates it when people order food for her. Especially when it is suggested by such a fat, stupid person.

She remains in an uncommunicative sulk until it arrives.

Eve takes a bite, and then another, and beckons her to do the same. “It's really good. You'll like it. Go on, try.”

She tells herself that she only obeys because she is very hungry. Not because it is Eve prompting her.

And...it _is_ surprisingly good. She covers up her smile with a cough and pretends to not enjoy the rest of the meal , taking longer than normal to finish. Which is to say, she finishes slightly after Eve.

When Mary comes back with their check, Oksana pays their bill.

By tossing the money in her ugly face.

On the way out, she flips off everyone, Melvin included. He looks horrified, like his best friend just shat in his food.

She is pleased.

“Your pub is shit!” she declares as they exit.

Eve just looks at her. “Was that really necessary?”

“Would you rather I had killed everyone?” she asks sweetly, back to her normal voice.

Smartly, Eve drops it. Good, she is learning.

She directs them towards a forested path behind the shitty pub. It winds around a slightly choppy looking lake. The path is just wide enough for the both of them to walk side by side, their arms occasionally brushing.

“Why am I here, Oksana?” says Eve, wasting no more time.

“I need your help,” she answers.

Whatever Eve was expecting, it apparently wasn't that.

Eve frowns. “I'm not gonna fall for that bullshit this time either, Oksana.”

“It's not bullshit this time, Eve.” She pauses for a beat. “They want me dead.”

Eve frowns further. “Who? The Twelve?”

She nods.

“Why? I thought you were their star pupil.”

Oksana shrugs. “Not anymore.”

“What did you do to piss them off so much?”

“They've finished what they set out to do, and now I've apparently outlived my usefulness,” she shrugs. “The others are all dead.”

“The others?”

“Like me.”

Eve contemplates this for several moments. As she does so, Oksana bends over to rip out a red flower with poofy petals. She thinks to give it to Eve but then stops herself, crushing it in her hand instead. She lets the bits sift through her fingertips, like the blood that dripped from her near fatal wound.

“So what's this have to do with me?”

It takes her a few seconds to come back to the present. To focus.

“Your friend, the boy who is good with computers...”

She suddenly can't remember his name. Very unlike her.

“Kenny?”

“Yes, him. I need him to track down The Twelve so that I can kill them all before they kill me.”

Eve laughs, then looks at her again. “You can't be serious, Oksana. We still don't even know where to be-”

Anticipating this resistance, she has the flash drive ready. This she holds in front of Eve, but does not let her touch. For all she knows Eve will smash it on the ground. And this is the only copy.

“I took this from my last...playmate, a Keeper. I can't open it...but perhaps Kenny can.”

“What's on it?” asks Eve stupidly.

“If I knew that, Eve, we wouldn't be here.”

“I wasn't your first choice was I? I'm your last resort.”

“Ironic, I know.

“Why should I help you?”

Without warning Oksana lifts up her shirt, partially revealing the ugly scar there. Eve freezes in place, like she is simultaneously afraid to look, but also mesmerized. Oksana is surprised when Eve reaches out and actually touches it. She is even more surprised that she _lets_ her. She hasn't let anyone, and she means _anyone_ , touch her scar so far. Somehow it is fitting that Eve should be the one to break the status quo. Just as she broke her heart.

She does her best not to shiver at the contact. She does her best not to enjoy it. She fails at both.

Still touching her, Eve looks up and gazes at her sincerely. And for a split second Oksana has the urge to kiss her.

But then Eve is stupid again. “I really am sorry.”

She drops her ironic t-shirt, letting it fall back into place and steps away from Eve. They continue to walk in silence for some minutes. On her part, she's doing her best to control her murderous rage. It's getting increasingly difficult the longer she is in Eve's vicinity.

“Why Poland?” asks Eve, eventually, as they round the mini-peninsula here. “Why the postcard at all? Why didn't you just call?”

Oksana knows that Eve knows why Poland, so she just ignores that one all together. She looks to Eve, opens her mouth and-

“It was a test!” exclaims Eve, answering herself, getting fired up.

Oksana would be lying if she said she didn't find it sexy as hell.

“If Kenny couldn't crack the postcard, he wouldn't be able to help you with the flash drive!” She pauses a moment, deflates. “And you wouldn't have had to see me again.”

“Not true.”

Again she is about to elaborate but-

“Your money's been cut off! Your resources! That's why you're really here, isn't it?” Eve makes a face again. “That's why you're dressed like _that!_ ”

Oksana sulks internally. It's true her fresh disguises are quickly dwindling, but she still thinks she looks damn sexy. And she can't understand why Eve doesn't agree.

“I need a place to stay,” she says, abruptly.

Eve blinks then looks at her incredulously as Oksana's meaning becomes plain. “You _can't_ be serious.”

“They would never think to look for me there. They know about the stabbing.”

“Madame Tattevin.”

“Yes.” She puts her best puppy dog look on. “Please, Eve. I've got nowhere else to go.”

Eve flounders. “I don't know...that's...well, I guess. I mean...I'm not really sure but-”

Oksana can't do it anymore, she bursts out laughing. “Got you!”

“What?”

“Oh, I got you _so_ good!”

“You're a dick,” says Eve, scowling, once she gets that she's been played.

It's quiet for a bit and then , “There _is_ actually one more thing I need you to do for me.”

“How _else_ can I be of service to the once great _Villanelle_?” snaps Eve, obviously still annoyed with her antics.

Oksana graciously ignores this rudeness and replies in a way that makes Eve's eyes go wide.

“I need you to kill me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun dun!!
> 
> I'm sure I'm massively jumping the gun here...if they actually do something like this it won't be till at least season 3 methinks.
> 
> I don't know why, but whenever I write in V's POV, it automatically becomes silly.


	3. Hello Ladies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters keep getting longer and longer...save me jebus
> 
> Guys, I'm so bad at descriptions, it's embarrassing. I legit spent 20 min updating it to make it less vague and that was the best I could come up with.

Eve's mind is reeling after everything Villanelle has told her, has asked her to do. So much so that she's barely able to focus on her inane babbling about some dumb movie she watched recently. So much so that she doesn't even notice all of the missed calls and messages on her phone, which she forgot in the car. So much so that they're half way back to London before she even realizes that she is driving.

Fingers snap in front of her face, and they veer off the road for a second. On the highway.

She glances over to see Tony...Villanelle staring at her, reproachfully. “You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying, have you?”

“You can't really think this is going to work, do you?”

Villanelle purses her lips. “If you do as you're told for once, it will.”

“There's so many things that could go wrong,” continues Eve, not listening to her.

Not Tony groans. “I have thought about this a lot, Eve, and this is the only way. Unless you have any better ideas...?”

“I haven't actually agreed to help you yet, you know,” she reminds her.

“You owe me,” warns Villanelle, hand rubbing her abdomen again.

She wonders if Villanelle even realizes she is doing that.

“If you don't help me, Eve, I have no more use for you,” she says, shoving her hands back into her pockets for the umpteenth time. “Which means I'll have to kill you. _And_ your friend, Kenny. _And_ Elena. _And_ Ni-”

“Okay, okay,” she relents. “I'll help you.”

“Finally, you are being smart,” smiles Villanelle, hands behind her head, carefree.

As if they weren't negotiating the terms of her murder.

Or well, Villanelle's fake murder.

“What's to stop me from _actually_ doing it?”

This is the thing that's been bothering her the most. Villanelle is putting absolute faith in her. Trusting her completely. It doesn't add up. Not after what she did in Paris. She must be missing something.

Villanelle doesn't look at her, keeps her eyes on the road. “Either way, my problem will be solved.”

And Eve is gobsmacked. She can't believe Villanelle doesn't care if she lives or dies. If that were truly the case, they wouldn't even _be_ here right now. She would've just handed herself over to The Twelve weeks ago and saved herself a lot of trouble.

Eventually Villanelle glances in her direction. “You really shouldn't do that with your mouth, Eve, you already look like shit as it is.”

Eve clamps her jaw, annoyed at Villanelle's continued abuse. An obvious defense mechanism against dealing with anything serious for too long.

“Why me? I'm sure you could've found plenty of other people willing to kill you, Oksana.”

“It _has_ to be you.”

“ _Why_?”

Villanelle looks over. “You are the only one they will believe. You are the only one that I...” she blinks and stares out the window. “We have a history,” she finishes lamely, her hand rubbing at her scar once more.

And then just like that, Villanelle goes back to rambling about the dumb movie.

*

It's mid-afternoon when they pull up to the boy genius's place. Eve turns off the car and faces her, but she is already scanning the building. It is a nice place, she decides. Nicer even than her own place in Paris. She's already disliking him just for this. She's been reduced to so little lately.

It's not fair.

“Play nice.”

She looks to Eve and puts her hand to her strapped down chest. “I don't know any other way,” she says in mock jest.

Eve just glares at her.

She pretend sighs, raises her other palm up like she is on trial. “I promise I will not be naughty.”

This time Eve sighs, a real sigh, and gets out of the car. The same one she had shot at so long ago. She wonders if things would've been different had she taken Eve out that very same day. Would she still be in the mess that she's in?

Doubtless, yes. But at least she wouldn't have gotten her heart broken. Again.

Oksana glowers to herself and then gets out too. They walk to the door side by side, like they are coming over to a friends house for dinner. Like they are a couple. She has a sudden urge to push Eve into the bush, to just barge into the house and scare the living daylights out of everyone.

But that would be counterproductive to her goals. And time was short.

The Twelve have been narrowing in on her location a bit more everyday. Her passport is useless. She can't leave the country now. She's stuck. With this one last strange plan. Better than nothing she supposes. At least it might be fun to mess with Eve's friends.

She's almost giddy at the prospect. Eve narrows her eyes at her, as if she can read her thoughts.

Eve presses the doorbell. “Just remember, _we're_ the ones doing _you_ the favour.”

“Just remember, I can kill all of-” The door opens and she switches to her British man voice, booming. “HOW THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN, SPORT?!” She grabs a hold of Kenny, pounds him on the back, like he is a big baby who is choking.

Kenny is rigid against her. Unresponsive.

“Play along now,” she whispers to him, kissing him on either cheek. She squishes his cheeks so that he looks like a puffer fish. Ridiculous.

Good.

She looks him dead in the eyes.

“We wouldn't want your neighbours to think anything is amiss.”

“Oh, right. Uh...” he says stupidly, and she can't believe he is considered a genius. That her fate might rest in his hands.

“Pretty good...buddy.” He pats her timidly on the shoulder.

“Louder.”

“ _Oksana_ ,” warns Eve.

“I really don't think that's nec-”

She tightens her grip on him.

His eyes go wider.

“Wonderful now that you're here!” he says a little louder.

It's still pathetic. She wonders if he even knows how to yell. If he ever has.

Whatever, she is already bored with this interaction, especially now that she's seen the gorgeous woman standing behind him. She lets go, pushes passed him and stands directly in front of Elena. To her credit, she doesn't step back. Even though it looks like she really wants to.

Oksana takes her sunglasses off, puts them on her head. Then she looks Elena up and down, admiring her hair, eyes lingering on her tits for a few seconds before finding her face again.

Elena puts her hands on her hips. “That's incredibly rude you know.”

Oksana decides she already likes her and will attempt to seduce her at a later date. Maybe once Kenny is busy with the flash drive. She can't fathom why such a beautiful woman is with him. He is so...plain looking. And a boring personality. Like a mouse. She must only be with him because he is rich, she decides.

She takes Elena's hand, kisses it.

Without further ado she spins her standard line when caught out like this, which was often.

“Forgive me for staring, but your beauty has left me speechless.”

Elena looks a little taken aback.

Kenny looks uncomfortable.

Eve scowls.

She winks at Elena and then goes off further into the house, in search of the kitchen.

She is hungry again. She is always hungry.

Her mouth is full of cold chicken wing when the three of them trail in behind her.

Eve looks exasperated already but doesn't bother saying anything, just drops her purse onto the kitchen table, and then her person into a chair. Like she is exhausted. Perhaps she is.

“By all means,” says Elena, annoyed, “help yourself.”

“Thank you,” she says, taking another bite. She stares at her with intent. “I will.”

Eve looks between them and then, “Why don't you show them the _drive_ , Oksana? You know, the _reason_ that you're actually here?”

She thinks Eve sounds jealous again.

“Is she always this grumpy?”

“Yes,” say Kenny and Elena at the same time.

“Hey!” says Eve. “No, I'm not! I'm just tired! You're not exactly a cake walk, Oksana!”

“So defensive,” she tsks. “It's a wonder you put up with her every day.”

This time Kenny and Elena don't say anything and that is no fun.

“Tell me, Elena, have you seen the latest _Deadpool_ movie?”

Elena blinks. “Well, actually yes. Kenny took me just last-”

And she is already bored the instant Elena mentions his name. If she wanted to hear about the plain looking boy, she would talk to the plain looking boy.

Whatever. She supposes Eve is right. No point dilly dallying further.

“Okay, here is the drive,” she says, interrupting Elena. She walks over to Kenny and places it in his hand. Doesn't let go. She stares at him steadfastly. “If anything happens to this...”

“Nothing's going to happen to it,” he stammers slightly after a few seconds.

“Good,” she smiles, pats him on the back, nearly making him drop it. He scrambles to keep it in his grasp. “Go, go,” she says, shooing him off to wherever his computers are.

She turns back to Elena and innocently says, “It was a long drive. Could you show me to the bathroom?”

“Uh, sure,” says Elena, glancing to Eve. “It's just this way.”

The second they are around the corner she says, “Have you ever been with a woman dressed as a man before?”

“Yes.”

And Oksana doesn't know what to do with that. Elena wasn't supposed to say that.

Not one to be easily deterred, she soldiers on. “Would you like to again?”

“Not particularly,” responds Elena, flippantly. “Bit of a disappointment really.”

“Are you sure? I am very good with my hands.”

“So I've seen. In the _papers_.”

And how rude. Her whole life wasn't about murder. Most of it yes, but not all.

She shrugs and pretends not to be disappointed. “Your lose.”

“I'm sure,” says Elena. She points to the end of the hallway. “Straight on, third on your left.”

Oksana doesn't actually have to go but heads there anyway. She rifles through the medicine cabinet, pops open a prescription pill bottle and swallows the contents. Not all of course, just a couple. She doesn't even know what they are for, but she figures they may make for a fun time. Or they may do absolutely nothing.

She stares at herself in the mirror. For a second she is startled, forgetting that she is in disguise. Then she smiles at herself. Sticks her tongue out. Makes other silly faces.

She pats herself on the side of the face.

“Good girl,” she says in Konstantin's voice. “My pretty little sausage.”

The facial hair is beginning to itch and she wants to remove it, but she won't. It is too much of a pain to get back on again. And with any luck, she won't be staying here for very long.

The bindings though, the bindings she could do without. Oksana lifts up her shirt and reaches back to pull out the very thin dagger stashed underneath the bindings. Then she efficiently unwinds the bandages. She takes a deep breath when it is done.

Lovely.

She drops the bandages onto the counter top and then tugs down her red ironic t-shirt that reads:

_My life is a romantic comedy_

_minus the romance_

_and just me laughing_

_at my own jokes_

It was somewhat tight before and now it is very tight, so her nipples are prominently on display. She does have a bra in the car, but she can't be bothered to go fetch it. She isn't a prude after all.

Oksana pushes her tits up a bit, then lets them fall back.

Hands on hips, she poses, admires herself in the mirror. “Beautiful.”

She grins to herself secretly, wondering how Eve and Elena will react. Perhaps this will even be enough temptation to sway Elena's mind?

*

From the moment the car stops, she regrets bringing her here. Eve could've said no. She could've demanded that Villanelle just give her the flashdrive to give to Kenny. Be the middlewoman.

But Villanelle had insisted, had claimed she couldn't possibly let it out of her sight.

Eve should've figured the real reason.

To annoy the hell out of her.

Logically, she knows Villanelle is just playing games. It's what she does. She gets bored easily and constantly looks for new sources of entertainment.

But why did it always seem to be at the expense of her own sanity?

And why did it have to be directed towards Elena?

And why was it bothering her so much that it was?

She had a lot of time to think about Oksana since Paris. Most of it was spent in fear of retribution. Some of the time though...some of the time she wondered what might've happened if she hadn't stabbed her.

If she had just let Oksana have her, would she have liked it?

Would she have wanted to do it again?

Does she have any desire to now?

Did she ever?

She knows now that she _is_ attracted to her. She just doesn't know if she _wants_ her.

You can be attracted to people you hate after all. Oksana wouldn't be the first for Eve. And probably not the last.

Unless of course Kenny can't crack the drive.

Then none of this rumination even mattered.

They'd all be dead by morning.

Elena comes back from the hallway. “She's a frisky one all right.”

“Oh god,” she groans, head in hands. She runs her hands through her disastrous hair. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be,” says Elena. “She's kind of hot. The pictures don't do her justice. I can see why you fancied her so much.”

They stare at each other for a beat and then Elena laughs. Eve relaxes.

Elena opens up the fridge and pulls out a fresh bottle of red wine. “Drink?”

“God, yes.”

They retire to the living room, full glasses in hand. They settle on the sofa, beside each other. Eve curls up, rests her head on Elena's thigh. Not exactly in the fetal position. Not exactly not.

“Rough day, huh?” says Elena, patting her head.

“You don't know the half of it.”

“Oh? This sounds juicy. Do tell.”

And she shouldn't, she really shouldn't.

But what the hell.

“She wants me to help her fake her death.”

*

Oksana heads back out to the kitchen but they are no longer there. She sneaks towards where she thinks the living room is and hears the beginnings of conversation.

“....death.”

“Is she mad?”

Eve snorts. “Definitely.”

“So...are you going to try to do it for real?”

Oksana freezes.

There is a long pause. “No.”

“Really? Even after everything she put you through?”

“Even after all that.”

“Why, Eve? This is like a get out of jail free card. You should just do it. Then you can finally move on with your life.”

“I don't think it's that simple, Elena.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don't think I _can_ move on. Even if she _was_ dead.”

“Shit.”

“I know.”

“That's fucked up.”

“I know.”

There's another pause. “You're not in _love_ with her, are you?”

Oksana's heart starts pumping faster. The suspense is killing her.

The longest pause yet. “No. Maybe? I don't know.” A loud sigh. “All I know is that she drives me crazy and I can't stop thinking about her.”

“That sounds like love to me.”

“It's not.”

“But it might be.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Elena!”

A chuckle. “Okay, okay, sorry. But if it _was_ love-”

“Elena!”

“No, seriously, Eve. No judgment. If you actually realized you were in love with her, what would you do about it?”

“I don't know.”

“Come _on,_ Eve, you've got to do better than _that_.”

“I guess...I guess it would really come down to how she felt about me.”

“Well, if you two ever do end up in bed again...make sure to use the scissors instead.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Elena laughs. Despite herself, Oksana almost laughs too.

“You're a dick.”

Oksana decides she has heard enough.

The only question now was, forwards or back?

She smiles. Forwards, always forwards.

She jumps out at them, arms wide. “HELLOOOO, LAAADIES!”

“Ahhhh!”

They're so startled that they spill their wine everywhere. On the sofa. On the floor. On themselves.

“What the fuck, Oksana?!” demands Eve, hand over her heart. “Jesus Christ you nearly gave me a heart-”

Then she blinks up at her and her eyes go wide. Eve's just noticed her lack of bra and she appears to be hypnotized. If Oksana didn't hate her so much right now, she'd be flattered, maybe even aroused.

Elena seems similarly fascinated but then gets up, staring down at her black shirt in disdain. “Right, well, I guess I best clean this up before it stains.” She glances at the rest of the mess and then glares at her. “I don't suppose you're going to offer to help?”

“Of course,” she smiles, breezily.

“You will?” says Elena, surprised.

“I would be delighted to help you clean your shirt, Elena.”

Elena rolls her eyes and strolls passed her. As she comes parallel she mutters, “Nice try, but the answers still no.”

Oksana continues to smile even though she's a bit disappointed. She looks back to Eve who is still staring at her. Oksana snaps her fingers in her face again, to which Eve startles, gazing off to the side. “I-I'm gonna go help, Elena,” she says, quickly hopping up and hurrying out of the room, a slight trail of wine dripping behind her.

Like blood.

There was a hell of a lot more of it when she rushed out of the flat in Paris. That point in time in her life is hazy at best. She was in a state of rage and shock, neither of which is conducive to memory retention. She knows she staggered down the last of the stairs, nearly slipping in her own blood. She knows she made it into an alleyway nearby. She recalls getting her phone out, and the struggle to focus and dial. She remembers the car pulling up and the shadowy figures emerging.

And that was it.

She passed out right after that and doesn't recall anything until one day when she woke up in a surprisingly high end hospital room. Everything was almost too sterile. Too bright. Too much. She didn't want to be there. She tried to leave, but found she couldn't. She thought she was tied down only to realize that she was simply too weak to get up. And this more than anything else is why she can never forgive Eve. She swore she would never be that weak again, that she would never be at the mercy of another human being for as long as she lived.

She snaps out of it when they return, both clad in different shirts. Elena's in a purple cardigan now and Eve is wearing a green one. It doesn't quite fit right and Oksana knows she has borrowed it from Elena. They're armed with paper towels and a single shaker of salt. She watches as they blot out the worst of the liquid with the towels. When they've gotten as much of it as they can manage, Eve opens up the salt shaker and pours it onto everything, thickly, so that no red is peeking through.

“You're sure that's going to work?” asks Elena after the fact, looking at the salt piles skeptically.

“Believe me,” says Eve, “I've spilled a lot of red wine. This is the best way. Once it's dried, you just vacuum it all up and it should be good as new.”

“Works for me,” shrugs Elena, gathering the soiled paper towel.

They bustle out of the room again, barely sparing her a glance. And now she's free to look around the space and be impressed by the massive television. She doesn't own one anymore. She did once, but all the shows were so stupid and repetitive, so she tossed it out the window, almost killing someone. Movies were her one true love. Always were and always would be. She especially loves American 80s movies. She likes _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_ partly because she thinks she would be great friends with Ferris, but mostly because she loves his sister's hair. She likes _Dirty Dancing_ for the same reason. More than once she's fantasized about taking Patrick Swayze's place...

Underneath the television, there's a white gaming console of some sort. She knows this because there's a pile of games beside it. There's a small x on the front of the system but she doesn't know what that means. She has almost no experience gaming. It's simply never interested her much...not when she can just go out and _do_ all of the things in the games.

Oksana goes over to pick up the game on top. It's called _Call of Duty: Black Ops III_ , and apparently made for something called the _Xbox One_. There's a picture of a guy sitting, dressed head to toe in black armour, two guns propped on his knees and pointing down, like he is taking a break from all the people he has killed. She respects his work ethic and his moustache and decides to give the game a whirl.

Except she can't figure out how to turn on the system...or the television for that matter. The buttons don't seem to be doing anything.

She's about to punch the stupid tv when,“You have to use the universal remote,” says Elena, watching her from the threshold. Elena points to the control sitting on the coffee table.

While Oksana picks it up and turns it on, Elena goes over to the system and pops in the game. Elena hands her one of the white controllers. “You ever played before?” She shakes her head. “Well, buckle up bronco, you're about to go for a wild ride.”

And that was a very bad thing to say to her.

She smirks, opens her mouth but Elena cuts her off. “ _Don't._ ”

She hates when people tell her this but in this case she figures Elena's a lost cause. It's Oksana's own fault really. She was too eager and came on too strongly. Normally she would ease people into things, like the lady from the museum. Or Eve. But she'd rather not think about that right now. Or ever again.

They settle down on the wood floor, much too close to the gigantic screen, like she is sitting front row in the movie theatre.

“Where's Eve?” she asks as the game begins to load.

“Oh, she's checking on Kenny's progress. I told her it was pointless...but I think she did it to get a break from you, “she looks down, “and your _girls_. You just can't help yourself, can you?”

Oksana smirks. “More fun this way.”

Elena rolls her eyes again. “You remind me of my nephew. He's six.”

Oksana glowers internally. She doesn't like being compared to children. They were all so small and stupid and smelly. And above all, ANNOYING.

The game finally loads. Elena enters the multiplayer section. They go through a series of screens until she's picked a character called a Seraph and Elena's picked one called Prophet, and a place called Hunted is loading. She looks over to Elena who is clearly pleased with herself. Oksana vows to kill her.

In the game of course.

Except, she has no idea what to do, or what buttons do what, and Elena is clearly not going to tell her.

So, within twenty seconds of starting, Elena has already killed her.

Oksana never even saw it coming.

She hates snipers.

She's only killed a guy once with a sniper and she vowed never to do it again. You can't see the spark leave someones eyes with a sniper. There's no challenge. No disguises. It's no fun. It doesn't give her any satisfaction.

But it's apparently giving Elena quite a bit.

Oksana's character re-spawns and she's just starting to get a feel for things when she's killed again.

“You might want to, you know, _move_ next time.”

Oksana's grip tightens slightly but otherwise she just brushes it off.

The third time she makes it about ten feet before she's shot through the head.

The fourth time she makes it to some cover. She realizes that her revolver isn't going to do her much good against a hidden sniper. So she cycles through her available weapons...and accidentally blows herself up with a grenade.

Elena sniggers at her and she grits her teeth. Now she remembers why she hates videogames. They are stupid. But she refuses to give up until she's killed Elena, at least once.

Two hours later and she's on the verge of slaughtering everyone in the neighbourhood. The city. The country.

It's then that she realizes that she's absentmindedly ripped off her facial hair. It's ruined now, but that's okay. She's got a spare in the car.

She also notices that Eve is back in the room, watching them, sipping more wine.

She wants to play Eve. She knows she can beat her. She will pick the character that has the fancy combat knife and she will plunge it into Eve's character over and over again until she doesn't feel like literally killing everyone in sight.

But Eve refuses to play. She just keeps drinking more and more. And that is no good. They might very well be enacting her plan later tonight. Eve can't be drunk for that or things will go seriously awry.

She puts the controller down, pleased with her restraint. She could've easily smashed it.

She goes over to Eve, who stares at her with wide eyes again, and takes the mostly empty bottle of wine away.

“You are cut off,” she says, to which Eve doesn't dare disagree.

She goes to leave the living room but Kenny appears then and his eyes also go wide at her lack of bra. He looks up at the ceiling and stutters, “I-it's ready. You can take a look now...i-if you want.”

Oksana is impressed. The last guy she had taken it to said it was impossible to crack. And Kenny here did it in less than three hours. He had lived up to expectations, and then some.

“Well done,” she praises, patting him on the cheek.

He flinches like she has slapped him. And now she kind of wants to.

Whatever, it was time to see if all this trouble has been worth it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I confess that this entire fic was just a way to get Elena and V in the same room.
> 
> All credit for the scissor joke goes to the person on tumblr.
> 
> Other ironic shirt contenders:  
> Whatever doesn't kill me...had better start running → too hitting the nail on the head for my tastes  
> Warning: Prone to Shenanigans  
> Me? Sarcastic? Never


	4. When Death Comes A Knockin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait, but dare I say that this long ass chapter will make up for it? Breaking 6000. Noice. I fully intended to post last night and just as I was about to my damn internet went out AGAIN. (it's been driving me crazy all week though...so who knows when the next update will be :/)
> 
> If you thought the previous chapters were strange, you ain't seen nothing yet.

Just like this morning – and God how could that be – all three of them crowd around the array of computer monitors in Kenny's Batcave (Elena's words not hers). The main difference being that the lights are turned on. The tech junkie haven is considerably less impressive in the light...and could probably do with a cleaning. Which is probably why Kenny seems a bit embarrassed.

Villanelle sits centre forward of course, her preferred place in life, and clicks open the only unlabeled folder on the drive. Eve is somewhat surprised that Villanelle is letting them witness this possibly historic moment. She would've thought Villanelle would've wanted to keep this information private, if only to ensure that they didn't attempt to warn whoever might be momentarily revealed. But perhaps Villanelle is simply trusting her ever present threat of death to keep them at bay? Or perhaps she can't stand not to have an audience when at all possible? Either way, Eve is grateful for the inclusion. She's been dying to know this particular secret for ages.

The file opens and they all just stare it, confused.

Elena recovers first. “This is a joke, right?” She looks to Kenny. “You're messing with us?”

“All I did was decrypt the file, Elena. Nothing more, nothing less. Believe you me, I'm just as stunned.”

Eve can't believe her eyes either.

“I don't understand,” says Villanelle, looking between them, “what is so shocking about this man with the bad haircut?”

“Seriously?” says Elena. “You don't know who that is?”

Villanelle goes to look at the profile picture again. Squints at it. “Was he the one that let the dogs out?”

“That's Sam Powell,” says Eve, finally finding her voice. “ _The_ Sam Powell.”

Villanelle continues to look at her blankly. And maybe this is why she let them be here. Apparently she lives off in her own little murderous world most of the time.

“Famous British celebrity, Sam Powell,” adds Eve. “He hosts a number of television programs and-”

“Oh, a _TV_ star,” scowls Villanelle, eyes back on the screen. She smiles. “This will be fun.”

“Well, go on then, sweet tits,” prompts Elena nonchalantly. “Who else is on there?”

And Eve is rather startled with the easy manner in which Elena bosses Villanelle. And even more startled that Villanelle allows her to tell her what to do without reprimand. Elena's frequent smack talk during the very violent game play also rather alarmed Eve. That's why she kept drinking, even though she knew she shouldn't. She's not drunk now, but she's definitely not sober either.

The slight something, definitely NOT jealousy, niggles at the back of her brain again. She's concerned for Elena's well being, that's all. Elena doesn't understand Villanelle the way that she does. She doesn't understand that she's playing with fire. That at any moment Villanelle could snap and take them all down without a seconds thought...

Villanelle scrolls through the file to find a number of signed transactions to various unknown organizations. After a little digging on a separate computer, Kenny is able to determine that most of them are shell corporations for reputable companies that are owned, or partially owned, by Powell. A couple of them even seem to be tied indirectly to Villanelle's kills, most notably the Italian mafia boss, Cesare Greco. Powell appears to have taken over Greco's business and is single-handedly fueling the UK with drugs and guns from Italy, making a fortune doing so.

“Damn, this guy is a total dirtbag,” says Elena aghast. “Why would they keep a record of this?”

“Leverage,” says Eve. “A way to ensure no one rats the others out. Mutually Assured Destruction.”

“Perhaps,” challenges Villanelle. “More likely that this... _TV_ man is unaware of this incriminating documentation. That one of The Twelve is more...cautious than the others and has taken certain measures to protect themselves should things go South.”

“Then why only put one of them on here? Why not all?”

“Everyone knows it's not wise to put all of your chickens into one basket, Eve.”

“It's eggs.” Villanelle looks confused. “Not chickens. Eggs in the basket.”

“No, I am pretty sure I am right.”

“Why would it be chickens?” she argues. “How big do you think the basket is?!”

Vaguely she wonders why she is getting so up and arms over a stupid idiom that's gotten lost in translation.

_Oh, right, the wine._

“Well, whatever the case is,” hastily interjects Elena, “I think we can all agree that he's bad news. And now that we've got this dirt on him, we can contact the authorities and turn him in.”

Villanelle gets up then and pinches her cheek. “It's cute that you think you have a say in this, Elena.” She looks to Kenny. “Can you make a copy?”

He nods.

“Make two.”

“I'll get right on that.” Then he takes her recently vacated place and gets to work.

Villanelle heads to a different computer and takes a seat. She enters Sam Powell into a general search bar. Goes to _Google images_. Scrolls for a few seconds.

“Is it just me or is his head getting squarer?”

Eve doesn't get why she's doing this. They already know what he looks like.

Villanelle looks over at her. “This is how I figured out who you were.”

She's incredulous. It was a hell of a lot harder for her. She thinks Villanelle must be bluffing. Someone _must_ have helped her. Someone close to her. Someone who knew insider things. Someone like-

“Konstantin helped you, didn't he?”

Villanelle's smile doesn't exactly fade but she also doesn't refute the suggestion.

“What exactly are you looking for?” This time Elena.

“I'll know it when I see it,” is the only reply.

Villanelle keeps scrolling for what feels like several minutes but is probably less than thirty seconds and then, “There.” She enlarges the picture and points. “Right there. See?”

And both Eve and Elena get closer to the screen but they can't make heads or tails of what Villanelle is getting at. She wouldn't be surprised if Villanelle is simply messing with them.

Villanelle makes an exasperated sound. “Right there. Around his neck.”

“His necklace?” says Elena. “What's so special about that?”

It's just a plain gold chain, but there is some sort of symbol on the end that she can't quite make out. She had noticed the chain in previous photos but this was the only one with the symbol on display. Well, sort of. They could try to blow it up more but it probably wouldn't do much good. This was clearly some sort of unsanctioned photograph taken by a fan long range.

“In my experience, these types of men can't help but to have some sort of....signifier for their...secret clubs. Makes them feel special. They've been doing it since the dawn of time.”

“What makes you so certain every member is a man?” she asks, genuinely curious.

Villanelle shrugs. “Just a hunch.”

And of course she isn't willing to elaborate.

Then Kenny comes over with two fresh flashdrives and the original. “You didn't make a third did you?” asks Villanelle as she pockets them.

“Everything's there.”

“Good.” She points to the screen. “Now do you think you can make this necklace clearer?”

Kenny looks at it dubiously. “I can try...but I doubt it.”

“Don't worry if you can't do it, Kenny. I won't be mad,” she says, surprisingly understanding. Then the other shoe drops. “I'll just break your Xbox. And your TV. And-”

“Okay, okay, we get it,” says Elena, rolling her eyes. “You'll act like a child again. Big surprise.”

Villanelle clenches her fist and Eve waits for the sudden act of violence, for Villanelle's unholy fury. It was a wonder she's kept it in _this_ long.

Thankfully it never comes.

Beyond this amazingly restrained reaction, Villanelle doesn't respond. Neither does Kenny. He simply waits for Villanelle to move so they can trade places yet again.

Kenny's at it for several minutes before he admits defeat.

“Sorry, can't be done,” he informs her, warily. “That's as good as it's going to get.”

The symbol is slightly clearer but otherwise useless.

Once again, Eve waits for the backlash. Once again, she's surprised by Villanelle's restraint.

“I'm hungry,” she says instead.

“You just ate _three_ hours ago,” reminds Elena, apparently still sore about the fridge rifling, as if the chicke n wing was some long desired treasure.

“Wow, that is a very long time for me. No wonder I am starving.”

Then she goes off, presumably to the kitchen, or perhaps to smash some things. Eve realizes she is pretty hungry too, but more than that, she needs to pee. And it's no wonder, she consumed the better part of a bottle of wine by herself.

In the bathroom she finds evidence of Villanelle, as if she needs to mark her territory everywhere she goes. The knife only gives her brief pause before she plops down on the toilet.

Relieved, she wipes, flushes and washes up. Eve checks herself out in the mirror, squishing her hair down. She's still disappointed with it. She would've liked to have looked... _nicer_ for Villanelle after so long apart. She wants Villanelle to desire her again...even though she's not sure she wants to reciprocate. Eve knows it's a fucked up thought, but it's there, and she figures there's not much point trying to hide from the twisted parts of her mind anymore.

She's about to leave the bathroom when her eyes land on the medicine cabinet. A sudden intuition tells her to open it. She's not sure what she's looking for until her gaze lands on the bottle of prescription pills. Some part of her must've remembered that Kenny took _Niravam_ for his anxiety.

And she wonders...could Villanelle have taken some? Could it explain her apparent mellowness? Her sudden impulse control?

And if this _is_ the reason...how can she go about crushing it up into Villanelle's dinner to make sure she _stays_ that way? At least until Kenny and Elena are out of the woods.

Or what about longer?

And now Eve's mind is going crazy. Could a few pills a day be enough to keep the grim reaper at bay? Could she actually get Villanelle to take medication on a regular basis to keep her in a more manageable state? And if she _could_ somehow convince her to do this (for her) could they conceivably have some sort of romantic relationship down the line? And once more, is that something she actually wants? 

She thinks maybe yes, maybe yes it is.

Or maybe it's just the wine talking.

And the fact that she hasn't slept with anyone in nearly a year.

Then she remembers that Oksana probably hates her so it doesn't even matter if the pills work or not.

“You really are a disaster, Eve Polastri,” she mutters to herself as she exits the bathroom, the pills forgotten.

She cringes. Shit. That's _not_ her name anymore. God, how many more times would she forget?

In the kitchen she finds Villanelle making herself a deli sandwich with all the fixings while Elena supervises and Kenny just kind of hangs a bit back. The kitchen knife is sitting right there, clean, waiting for first blood so to speak. She remembers all too well what happened the _last_ time she picked one up. And the sick part of her kind of wants it to happen again. When Villanelle pinned her against the fridge and sniffed at her, it was the first time Eve had been aware of her strange feelings towards Villanelle. At the time she had no idea what to think about the predicament. Later she realized she had enjoyed herself. Sure, she was terrified, but she had also been aroused. Every time they were close together like that, it was the same sensation. She always felt alive in a way that she never had with Niko. She supposes fear of death tends to do that to a person.

Villanelle looks up slightly upon her arrival and notices her gaze towards the knife. Then she smiles at Eve as if she knows exactly what she was just thinking. Eve blinks out of it and goes to stand beside Kenny, who is picking at his arm again. A nervous habit of his.

“Why are you all just standing around watching me?” asks Villanelle after another few seconds pass by and she's slicing up some cheese. “It's very creepy.”

“We're waiting for you to step away from the knife,” answers Elena boldly, blunt as a hammer.

Villanelle laughs. “There are more fun ways to kill someone.” She glances around the room. “I can see at least eleven different ways I could kill you, in this room alone.”

Despite her earlier fears, Eve's not too concerned about any of their imminent demises. Villanelle still needs her help, and if she kills her friends, she knows she won't get it. She knows she will be literally signing her own death warrant. 

“Is that all?” responds Elena. “Bit underwhelming really.”

Villanelle smiles at her and finishes cutting up the cheese. She adds lettuce and tomato, mayonnaise, and then places the top piece of bread on. She cuts through this on a diagonal and then promptly shoves half of it into her mouth and noisily chews.

“Don't choke on that now,” says Elena. “It'd be a crying shame if you did.”

Villanelle appears to laugh and then her eyes go wide. She drops the sandwich back onto the plate and clutches at her throat with both hands.

“Nice try,” says Elena, rolling her eyes. “We're not falling for anymore of your bullshit.”

Villanelle slams the counter top with an open palm. And Eve doesn't know what to think. Part of her is convinced Elena is right and she's just playing around. The other part wants to swoop in and save her. She's torn as to what to do as Villanelle continues to clutch at her throat, pleading at them with her eyes. 

It's reminiscent of how she looked shortly after she stabbed her.

When she drops to her knees too, Eve can't take it anymore and she goes over to her side.

The second she does, Villanelle miraculously stops choking, lays on her back and starts laughing. Eve feels incredibly stupid and decides never to drink red wine again. Even total strangers would know this is a bald faced lie, but in the moment Eve truly means it.

When she quiets down, Villanelle gives her an undecipherable look. Eve would give anything right now to be privy to her inner thoughts. She wants to understand her again, the way she used to. She wants to know if Villanelle would've actually let her help her if she _had_ been choking. More than anything else though, she wants to know if Villanelle feels any kind of gratitude towards her for being the only one _willing_ to help. For caring whether she lives or dies.

Then Villanelle props herself up on her elbows and looks over at Elena and Kenny. “Wow, how rude. You were really going to let me die right here in your kitchen.”

“I treat people the way they would treat others,” responds Elena coldly. And whatever  bromance they had been cooking up these last few hours seems to have run its course.

Eve is relieved.

Villanelle doesn't say anything to that, just jumps up and goes back to stuffing her face.

After they've all had something to eat, it's back to business. Since they couldn't get a clear picture of the symbol and no other photographs even _hinted_ at it, Villanelle announces that she will need to 'meet' Sam. In person. Just so that she can get a glimpse of his necklace which she believes will be useful in identifying the other members of The Twelve.

“You've got to be kidding,” says Eve. “There's no way you can just walk up to him and ask to see his necklace. His security would never let you near him. I don't care how good you are at killing people. It's not happening.”

“That's why _you'll_ do it,” says Villanelle, batting her eyelashes.

“I'm already doing enough for you as it is.”

“You're done when I say you're done.”

“That's not how this arrangement works.”

“It is from now on.”

Vaguely she's aware of Kenny trying to break them up.

“What?!” they both yell at him at once.

It's then that she realizes that she's practically nose to nose with Villanelle and she quickly backs off.

Kenny looks taken aback but shakes it off. “It's just...neither one of you is going to be able to get close to him. Not unless you've got a crystal ball.” He holds up his tablet. “ Says here he's been away at an undisclosed location for the past three weeks. Taking an indefinite holiday. They say it's because of his breakup with Gwendolyn Myers, but-”

“You think it's because of me?” finishes Villanelle.

“That'd be my guess. Until you're...contained, he's in hiding. My bet is that they all are.”

They all digest this information for a few beats.

Villanelle queries, “Do you think you could locate him?”

“If I had his personal phone number or email address then maybe. But it would take awhile even then. I doubt he'd be stupid enough to leave an obvious trail.”

Then Villanelle looks straight at her with intent. She shivers, knowing exactly what's coming next.

“Well then, Eve, there's only one way to flush them out for sure. It's time for you to kill me.”

 

*

 

The entire way back to her flat she is antsy, fidgeting every time she comes to a red light. She can't believe she let herself get talked into this. She swears that after this is done, _they're_ done. That she just needs to close that door once and for all. Move on.

Except, she knows she can't. She already admitted as much to Elena.

And that more than anything else perplexes her.

She pulls into the available spot out back of her three flat building. Thinks about banging her head some more. Sighs instead. Gets out, and makes her way inside. Villanelle didn't come here with her. She said she had something to take care of first. Whatever that meant.

Maybe she had a goldfish stashed somewhere around here that she needed to feed one last time. Or 'mercifully' flush down the toilet. Or make into her final meal.

And goddammit, she's still a bit under the influence, isn't she?

Eve kicks off her shoes and socks and paces around for a few minutes until she remembers what Villanelle said.

_'Act normal. Pu_ _ t on some music.  _ _Do whatever else you would normally do until I arrive. Your neighbours can't be suspicious before we even begin.'_

Well, what she would _normally_ do right about now is crack open another bottle of wine. Since that was off the table, she would read instead. Since that is also totally not an option, she sits down and sweats and curses Oksana's name under her breath while she squeezes the stress ball Keiko gave her harder and harder.

Just when it's probably about to pop, Villanelle's gloved hand closes around her mouth.

Predictably, she jumps out of her skin, and off of the couch.

“When did you get here?” she tries to say, but it's muffled, unintelligible.

Villanelle releases Eve, cocks her head to the side, towards her CD player, a present from Niko. Gives her a look as if to say _, 'Really? This guy?'_

This guy was Michael Buble. And of  _course_ Villanelle would know Michael Buble but not Sam Powell. 

Eve shrugs and whispers, “He relaxes me.”

“Clearly,” says Villanelle, looking to the half destroyed stress ball on the ground.

Villanelle's brown hair is braided in a low hanging bun, in the same way it was when she broke into Eve's house the last time. Unlike last time, she's dressed in a simple navy blue sundress, a light black jacket over top. Hardly, the typical picture of an assassin. But that was the point. For the story to be believable, Villanelle can't be here in a murdering capacity. Eve wouldn't have stood a chance.

She notices then that Villanelle is barefoot, just like herself. Her flats are by the back door, beside Eve's purse and phone. Eve supposes it's so that Villanelle can minimize the amount of noise she makes, or at least make it indistinguishable from her own footfalls. They're on the second floor after all.

She also notices that Villanelle is wearing black leather gloves, just like the ones killers in movies always wear. The reality of her predicament comes crashing back. She tries not to freak out.

“Okay, so...where do you want to do this?” she asks, again, very quietly.

She thinks she does a damn fine job of sounding normal.

But Villanelle isn't paying attention to her, she's seen into the guest room...and the wall of postcards.

Fuck, she forgot to turn the light off in her mad dash over to Kenny's this morning.

Villanelle starts forward and Eve follows, but Villanelle places a hand out, telling her to stop. And again, it takes her a second to get why. If two people are shuffling around at the same time, that would be very strange if she's going to claim she was alone beforehand.

Villanelle examines the postcards for about ten seconds and then starts carefully taking them off the wall, apparently making sure she doesn't rip any of them. Eve has no idea what she's doing, but just waits it out.

Villanelle comes up to her, hands full of fifteen postcards. “These will come in handy.”

“How?”

“When they interrogate you, you can show them these and say, ' _see she was obsessed with me. It was only a matter of time before she came herself. I simply defended myself from my stalker'.”_

“Okay...but why would I keep them? Doesn't that seem...odd to you?”

And she's partly asking for the investigation that's going to follow this, and partly because she wants to know what Villanelle's opinion of her is. If she thinks she's pathetic for holding on to them, even making a bit of a shrine. If she's flattered. If she cares at all.

“No, not really. They are nice postcards.” Eve gives her a no nonsense look and Villanelle shrugs. “Everyone close to you knows you are a bit obsessed with me too, Eve. It's not much of a stretch.”

Not everyone. Not Keiko.

“Fine,” she says, taking them out of her hands and going into the kitchen to retrieve a plastic bag. She shoves all of them in there and dumps the bag in the closet of her bedroom. Like it is much more of an afterthought and not something she's been obsessing over for months.

“By the way, Eve,” says Villanelle as she comes back over, “I love what you've done with the place. I feel right at home.”

The unpacked boxes are still everywhere. She left them that way because she thought Villanelle would come and kill her, save her the trouble. How ironic.

“You're a dick. _Now_ can I kill you?”

Villanelle observes her a moment, then steps right up to her, like they are about to engage in a dance. Or maybe the thought only crosses her mind because ' _Sway_ ' just came on the CD player. It was a song she used to dance to with Niko all of the time. Before she fucked up her life.

Villanelle places Eve's hand on her abdomen, over the scar, which is faintly detectable through the thin fabric of the dress. She holds direct eye contact. “I didn't think you'd do it. I didn't think you had it in you. But you do.” She pauses a moment, eyes flitting down to her lips and then back up. “And I find that incredibly sexy.”

And what? That is _so_ not where she thought this conversation was headed.

“I'd love to watch you do it again.”

Double what.

“Not on _me_ of course,” smiles Villanelle. “That was no fun.”

“Oksana...” she chastises, pulling her hand away, “I'm not gonna stab some random person just so that you can get turned on and masturbate about me some more.”

And Oh God, did that really just come out of her mouth?

Villanelle seems amused by her response. She wants to crawl into a hole.

“Not stab. Shoot.” Villanelle reaches into her inner jacket and holds up a gun between them.

Her own gun. The one from her car.

Panic sets in.

“I don't understand...I thought we were _faking_ your death.”

“Oh we are,” says Villanelle, arm dropping to her side.

“But that's a _real_ gun.”

“Yes.”

“With _real_ bullets.”

“Also correct.”

“But you said that you were gonna take something and-”

Villanelle laughs, apparently at her incredulous expression. “What did you think, Eve? That you could pretend shoot me and I play dead and The Twelve will be convinced? I think you're forgetting that I've already done that. In prison. With _their_ consent. It _has_ to be real this time. There _has_ to be a dead body.”

Villanelle takes a burner phone out of her jacket with her other hand and dials a number. “Now.”

Eve is utterly bewildered about what is going on and she can tell Villanelle is delighted by the fact.

There's a knock on her back door.

She looks to Villanelle. “It's rude to keep people waiting, Eve.”

Eve moves towards the door as if she is in a dream. When she opens it, she is convinced of the fact.

There standing before her is...Villanelle.

“Hello, Eve,” says Villanelle, moving inside.

Heart pounding, she backs away quickly from the apparition and bumps into Villanelle, solid as anything. She moves away from both of them until there are several feet between them.

The Villanelle's stand side by side and Eve's mind is short circuiting. They're identical in every way. Same build, same face, same clothes.

The only difference being that one is holding a gun, and the other isn't.

“I don't...this isn't... _how_ -”

“Meet my long lost identical twin, Anastasia,” says the one with the gun, slinging an arm around the others shoulders. “We were separated at birth and recently reunited.”

“Really?” she says stupidly.

Villanelle snorts. “Of course not, Eve. I am an only child. You know this.”

“I thought you said she was smart,” says Anastasia.

“But if you aren't related to one another then how...” and then her frazzled mind finally clues in. It was preposterous but it was the only explanation. “Plastic surgery?”

“Ding ding,” says Villanelle. “Anastasia was gracious enough to undergo the procedure for me.” She smirks. “Well, _procedures_. It was very extensive.”

“I was in recovery for months,” smiles Anastasia, as if it was something to be proud of. She turns to face Villanelle, places her bare hands on either side of her face. “I'm all healed up now though and just as _gorgeous_ as her.”

“Yes, you are,” replies Villanelle, kissing her on the nose, to which Anastasia blushes.

And Eve has an insane thought that they've slept together. That Villanelle's ego and narcissism would be big enough for something like that.

“It's a shame really, that I have to kill you now,” laments Villanelle, taking Anastasia's hand in hers. She kisses it. “We could've had so much fun together.”

_Wait, what?_

“You know why you're here?” says Eve to Anastasia. “She didn't trick you into this?”

“Why would she need to trick me?” says Anastasia, genuinely confused. “She asks things of me and I oblige.”

She smiles adoringly at Villanelle. Both of them seem unable to look away from the other, like there's an invisible mirror between them. It's incredibly bizarre and surreal to witness.

Eve is completely and totally fine with the fact that neither one is paying her any mind.

“It's what you do when you love someone.”

Okay...that explained some things then. Anastasia was bat shit insane. Eve was obsessed but she'd never do something like _this_ willingly. This was next level crazy. Br eak the bar crazy. 

This was...impossible.

Eve frowns. “But...you only sent me the postcard a few days ago...”

“Oh, we started our little project almost a year and a half ago, Eve,” says Villanelle. “I knew that one day this might happen. That they might try to kill me. I planned accordingly.”

“And you kept her a secret all that time?” she wonders skeptically.

“It's really not that difficult. I bought her a nice little cabin in the woods and she stayed there like a good little girl,” - Villanelle pinches Anastasia's cheek, to which she giggles - “until it was time.”

“Where the hell did you find her?”

“Craigslist.”

And...that was fair. You could find pretty much anything or anyone on that site.

“That was the best day of my life,” beams Anastasia. “When we met.”

Villanelle kisses her on the corners of her mouth and Anastasia looks fit to die...which, ironic.

“Anyway, enough talk. Time for action. If you could stand over there, my dear, that would be lovely.”

Anastasia immediately, eagerly goes to comply. She practically skips over to the place between the television and the coffee table, like she is headed off to _Disneyland_.

Villanelle observes Anastasia for a few solemn moments and then turns the gun over to Eve.

Eve blinks in confusion. “You can't expect me to...I'm _not_ going to kill this poor girl, Oksana!”

“And I don't want you to, either!” says Anastasia, outraged. “V, we agreed that _you_ would do it!”

It's a good thing the current _Buble_ song, ' _Can't Buy Me Love'_ is quite a boisterous number. Or someone would have definitely heard that had they been listening

“Calm down both of you.” She looks to Anastasia. “I promise I will kill you. Don't worry.” She looks back to Eve. “I just need you to fire the gun in her general direction.”

“Why?”

“You need the gunpowder residue on your hands, Eve.”

Eve hesitates some more before taking the gun. She points it off to the side of Anastasia, and prepares to take the shot.

“What if I told you _she_ was the one who killed Bill?” whispers Villanelle in her ear. “Would you pull the trigger this time? Would you kill her?”

Eve's heart starts hammering away. “You're lying. I _know_ it was you.”

Even as she says this, she watches as the gun drifts towards Anastasia's torso, as if someone else is in control of her brain. It lands right where she stabbed Villanelle.

“Hey!” complains Anastasia. “You're not listening! I don't want _you_ to kill me!”

“How can you be so sure, Eve?” continues Villanelle as if she hasn't even spoken. “How do you know I didn't let her out of her cage for a day?”

“You would never let her impersonate you for real. You wouldn't have risked it.”

“Why would I kill Bill, Eve? I had nothing against him. He was harmless. I didn't want to hurt you. Why would _I_ have done it? Isn't it more likely that crazy pants here did it? Isn't it more likely that _she_ lured Bill to that club. That _she_ stabbed him to death. That _she_ took him away from his family. From you?”

And suddenly doubt is starting to seep through her defenses. If she was being honest, she never did understand why Villanelle did it. And more to the point, she didn't _want_ her to be the one who did.

“Take your revenge, Eve,” urges Villanelle seductively. “Kill the bitch that took him away from you. It's your last chance. Do it.”

Eve is transfixed by the circumstance, so reminiscent to their altercation in Paris. If she had just pulled the trigger then, none of this would currently be happening. And if she did it now, well, would Villanelle be impressed? Would she find it sexy? Was she even being serious before?

Eve is on the verge of doing it when the music changes once more and snaps her out of it. She comes to her senses, stares at Anastasia in abject horror. This is _so_ not what she signed up for.

“Stop it!” says Eve, elbowing Villanelle, who grunts beside her. She lowers the gun. “I'm not gonna fall for that!”

Villanelle laughs softly. “I had you going there, didn't I? Just a little bit?”

“Screw you,” she says shoving Villanelle further away from her. She notices that her hands are shaking. Another second and she would've done it. God, she was almost as bad as Anastasia.

Speaking of, “I can't be party to an innocent girls death.”

“Innocent?” scoffs Anastasia. “I am no innocent. I have slaughtered many babies.”

What the fuck.

“You're a baby killer?” frowns Eve skeptically, wondering if she can really trust a single word that comes out of her mouth. Not unlike someone _else_ she knows. “What _kind_ of babies? Human babies or animal?”

“All of the above,” smiles Anastasia.

“I don't believe you.”

“Well, it's true!” exclaims Anastasia. She winks. “I am a very bad girl and I need to be punished.”

And seriously  with the innuendos at a time like this. Villanelle taught her well.

“Like I said,” she says, glancing sideways, “I'm not gonna help you kill this poor girl. She needs some serious help.”

“And you'll be giving that to her when you fire the gun,” says Villanelle again, clearly starting to get impatient. “Permanent solution.”

And Jesus Christ was this how Villanelle really viewed mental illness? As something to be wiped off the face of the planet? If so, she was a massive hypocrite.

Eve simply stands her ground against Villanelle, wondering where all of her current calm and defiance is really coming from.

Utter exhaustion most likely.

Or the fact that she holds the gun.

“If you don't punish me soon, V, I will start singing Taylor Swift songs, and we both know how much you dislike this.”

Villanelle scowls at Eve and says, “ _Now_ look what you've done. She is a terrible singer.”

And Eve isn't sure if Villanelle means Anastasia or Taylor.

Before she can react, Villanelle comes up behind her, grabs Eve's gun hand, forces her index finger over the trigger and fires off several shots into Anastasia's torso. A final shot lands directly into her skull. Anastasia instantly drops dead to the floor. Silent forever more. Smiling.

This abrupt act of violence lasts mere moments, so it takes a few more before Eve comes back to life, awake to the horror of what has just happened. She drops the still smoking gun in her hand the second Villanelle lets her.

“Why did you _do_ that?!” she says, half hysterical with the fact that not only was there some strange mentally ill woman now dead and bleeding out in her living room, but that she had just technically aided and abetted with an _actual_ murder.

“You never listen to me,” says Villanelle with a casual shrug. “It's annoying.” She looks to Anastasia. “So was she.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Eve absentmindedly, hypnotized by the sight of someone who looks just like Villanelle dead right there. A scene from her dreams...and her nightmares...

Villanelle glares at her, getting her meaning. Then she goes over to inspect her...or rather... _their_ handiwork, careful to stay out of the growing blood pool. She makes a face. “I really hope I don't look that stupid when I die.” She pulls a different face, waves her hand in front of her nose.“Ugh, she pissed and shit herself by the smell of things. So undignified.”

“You know people can't control that, right?” she explains to a serial killer. She wonders if this is considered mansplaining. Or killsplaining. Or whatever.

Villanelle just rolls her eyes. “Yes, Eve, I know.” A slight pause and then, “Well, good luck with this,” she says, and then turns to leave.

“You're kidding me, right?!” whisper shouts Eve, focusing on the live Villanelle again. “You're just gonna leave me?! Just like that?! After what you _made_ me do?!”

“I can't very well hang around for when the cops get here, now can I?”

And Villanelle is frustratingly calm, which just makes her more frantic.

“But what about-”

Villanelle, comes back, places a gloved finger to her lips. “You need to call 999 now, Eve.” She smiles. “And if you can keep this whole hysterical bit going, that would be great. Very you. Very believable.”

Villanelle's almost out the door when Eve blurts, “Did you sleep with her?”

And she could kill herself right now. First Anna, now this.

Villanelle turns back around, a quizzical expression on her face. “Seriously, Eve?” She shakes her head. “A woman was just murdered. Show some respect.”

Then Villanelle winks at her and disappears into the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I rewrote that last scene several times. Still not sure if I like it, but at some point you just have to post...or it drives you...insane. So anyway, there's the implausible death faking scenario I came up with. It's totally, 100% not ridiculous at all. But honestly, I think it does fit the tone of this fic to a T. Or a V. Or whatever. At least I stopped myself from writing 911.
> 
> I think in the pilot they showed her with prescription pills...I wondered what they might be for...or even if they were hers. Wouldn't put it past her to have stolen something from a one night stand or even Madame Tattevin...which no, I'm not suggesting that they...
> 
> And oh yeah, I made a KE vid awhile back so check it out if you're bored: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=igLOyqZVe5k 
> 
> Okay, I'll shut up. Now you say some stuff...or not.


	5. In the Eye of the Beholder

 

Oksana sets up shop about a mile away, up in some ambitious kids treehouse. It's fully furnished, complete with a bed, camp cots, a couch, lamps, a number of board games. There's even a television. Everything some little shits thought were essential. By the looks of the place, no one's been up here for quite some time. Even if they _had_ been, it doesn't matter. The family isn't home at the moment, and shouldn't be for the rest of the weekend, according to their fridge schedule. It smells a bit strange here, but anything is better than the stench of freshly released corpse bowels.

She makes a face at the memory and then shakes it off, focusing instead through the long range scope she has set up on a tripod. Eve's place is lit up like a silent rave, three different cop cars, a firetruck and an ambulance are parked outside the flat complex, lights blaring. There's a small civilian crowd standing around the perimeter, held back by the standard 'Do Not Cross' tape and a few constables.

She can just make out Eve and Inspector Mun out back under the light of the complex. Out of the way of the crime scene experts and fanfare she supposes. Or to spare Eve further 'trauma'.

Mun is a fairly attractive Asian man dressed in plainclothes, but she wouldn't likely go for him, if only because he has a bit of a belly. That, and she hates cops. They were always trying to get in the way of her fun.

Oksana presses the earpiece on again, the one wirelessly connected to the bug she placed on Eve.

“...in your own words, what happened here tonight, Ms. Yang?”

“Well,” says Eve tearfully, wringing her hands for good measure, “I came home from a friends house after dinner.”

There's the sound of paper flipping as Inspector Mun looks back to previous notes. “Kenny Stowton's residence?”

“Yes,” confirms Eve.

“Around what time was this?”

“Eight thirty maybe? I was tired but couldn't get to sleep, so I put on some music and read for a bit.”

“What were you reading?”

“ _The Fact of a Body_.* It's a true crime novel.” Mun looks at her incredulously, and it was pretty funny that Eve picked this book. Pretty stupid too. It seems like she's just realized this as well.

“Seriously, Eve?” groans Oksana, putting her head in her hand.

She's beginning to wonder if she should have prepped Eve a bit more before attempting this con. Oksana's used to working alone and thinking on her feet so she sometimes forgets that not everyone else is. This was hardly the first stupid thing Eve has said so far this night.

“And that sort of content helps you sleep at night?” he asks, skeptically.

“Yes.”

“I see.” He goes back to making notes. “Then what happened, Ms. Yang?”

“Well, I heard a noise and-”

“When and where did you hear the noise?”

“The back door. Around nine twenty I'd say. I went to investigate. I didn't see anything. I had a bad feeling though so I got my gun out of my bedroom. When I came back out,” there's a slight sob, “she was there, in my living room.”

“There who was?”

“Oksana Astonkova.”

Eve's voice is quavering quite nicely. Oksana isn't sure how much of it is being put on and how much is real. Either way, it's effective. Clearly Inspector Mun agrees because he's holding out a tissue now.

Eve takes it and blows her nose, noisily. It's right in her ear, so Oksana makes a face.

“You were acquainted with the deceased?”

There's a slight pause. “Yes.”

“How did you know her?”

“From my previous line of work.”

Oksana snorts. “That's one way of putting it.”

“Which was?”

“That's...complicated.”

“We'll come back to that then,” says Mun.

She hates stakeouts. They are very boring. The only thing that gets her through them are her snacks. So without further ado, Oksana reaches into her bag and pulls out a double decker candy bar. She doesn't much like London, but she has to admit, the sweets aren't half bad. Not as good as Parisian ones, but not bad.

Oksana unwraps this and takes a bite. The nougat and chocolate combination makes her mouth salivate. While she does have a bottle of water too, she'd rather not drink any if at all possible. She's not a fan of pissing in the bushes, or using public restrooms for that matter. Only if absolutely necessary.

“So, you saw Miss Astonkova in your living room and then what did you do?”

“I pointed my gun at her.”

Mun holds up a bagged item. “This gun, the Beretta M9?”

“Yes.”

He hands it back over to his colleague who is standing nearby. “Do you have a license for this handgun, Ms. Yang?”

Eve gets uncomfortable. “No.”

“Tsk, tsk, Eve,” says Oksana, with a smirk.

Inspector Mun makes several more notes. Surprisingly, he doesn't chastise or threaten her about her illegally attained firearm that has now been used in a fatal shooting.

“So, you pointed your gun at her and then what happened, Ms. Yang?”

“I fired it.”

“Duh,” mutters Oksana mouth full of nougat.

“How many times?”

“I don't recall.”

“That's understandable.”

Around this point in time, Oksana becomes aware of an intruder. Beady eyes stare at her from one of the treehouse windows. There's a fat fucking raccoon there and it's looking straight at her. And the half eaten candy bar in her hand.

“Go away,” she commands of it. “This is not for you.”

Rather than listen, it decides to creep further into the treehouse, eyes now directed towards her bag instead. She lazily kicks out at it in her boots, and it dodges and hisses at her. It boldly makes another play right after and she kicks at it more aggressively. Now it's retreating to the corner. Re-strategizing. Waiting for a better opportunity.

“Had you ever discharged that firearm prior to tonight?”

“I've practiced in the countryside a few times. Why do you ask?”

“Your marksmanship is excellent, Ms.Yang,” he says, looking at her with a faint smile. “I think it might even be better than my own.”

And seriously? This guy is practically hitting on Eve now because of her own excellent abilities. And maybe she literally jumped the gun there. She should've shot more haphazardly. More believable that way. Too late now.

He clears his throat, looks back down to his notepad. “Did Miss Astonkova threaten you in any way?”

“You mean, besides her presence?”

“I mean, did she threaten physical harm in any way?”

The raccoon is creeping once more. Inching ever closer to the goods. Oksana is purposefully pretending to ignore it. Letting it get in much closer than it has thus far.

“No. She didn't say anything at all. Except that she wanted to talk.”

“Do you have any idea about what?”

“She was obsessed with me. Had been stalking me for months. Kept sending me postcards. I think she was in love with me.”

Oksana scoffs. “Not true.”

The fat fuck makes its play and this time she reaches out lightning fast and grabs it by the throat. It's hissing and scratching at her gloves and jacket and just generally trying to bite her face off.

“That's not very nice,” she says to it calmly. Then she moves over to the window and tosses it out. She watches as it flails uselessly all the way to the ground. Its body makes a satisfying crunch on the patio stones.

“I take it the attraction wasn't mutual?”

Another pause. “No. I've never been interested in her in that way.”

“Did you have a restraining order against Miss Astonkova?”

“No. I just wanted her to leave me alone, but she wouldn't take no for an answer.”

Oksana glares at nothing. “ _You're_ the one who's been chasing after _me_ , Eve,” she grumbles. “Not the other way around.”

“Why didn't you have a restraining order then?”

“Because even if I had gotten one it wouldn't have made any difference. Oksana had no regard for the law and only listened to one person.”

“And who would that be?”

“Herself.”

“I see.”

And Oksana has heard enough. She clicks off the earpiece. She looks to her LED watch. The time is approaching ten thirty. It shouldn't be much longer now. They should be arriving shortly.

Sure enough, about half an hour later they do. Four men in dark suits trail behind a woman with short hair. The woman speaks to a constable on duty, who then goes to the back to fetch Inspector Mun, who is _still_ questioning Eve. If Oksana had been in her position, she probably would've killed him by now. Or faked a hysterical fit. Or attempted a seduction...even if he _was_ a copper.

Inspector Mun goes to speak with the woman, and he doesn't seem particularly pleased by what she has to say, but it's hard to tell what his expression really is. The flashing lights are distorting everything. Mun then escorts the four men into the building.

While this is happening, the constable leads the woman to Eve.

They stare at each other for a few seconds.

“Trouble does seem to seek you out, doesn't it, Eve?”

“Guess I'm just lucky. What are you doing here, Carolyn?”

Carolyn looks to the constable and dismisses him with a glance.

When they are alone...or at least, _think_ they are alone, Carolyn says, “We're taking over this investigation.”

“Who? MI5?” Carolyn nods slightly. “Why?”

“Do I really have to answer that, Eve?”

“No, I guess not.”

The crime scene crew and several constables are exiting the building via the front entrance. Oksana zooms out on the scope to briefly watch their progress as they file out one by one, like a small pack of ants. Then she visually refocuses on the conversation.

“You didn't tell them anything...pertinent, did you?”

“Do I really have to answer that, Carolyn?” comes the snarky retort.

“Why do you think she came here?”

“I have no clue.”

“Don't you?” The look is direct, piercing.

To her credit, Eve doesn't quail.

“No,” says Eve with finality.

“Good girl,” praises Oksana.

The authorities are being herded up into their respective vehicles and sent on their merry ways. Even the crowd of onlookers is dispersing now. Only Inspector Mun remains. He says something to the men in the suits, who don't reply. One simply holds out his hand. Clearly disgruntled, Mun hands over his notepad and then gets into his unmarked car and leaves. Now the only sign that a crime was committed here is the police tape.

One of the suited men remains out front, while two of them return to the building. The final one goes to the back and comes right up to Carolyn. He whispers something in her ear, presumably that the scene has been re-contained. She nods, hands folded before her.

“Well, Eve, I can't say it was nice to see you again, but I will say that I'm glad you're still alive...if only for Kenny's sake. He does seem to look up to you. Heaven knows why.”

And wow, Oksana forgot how much of a bitch she was. Oksana closes one eye and squishes Carolyn's head with her thumb and index finger. She probably would've killed Carolyn by now if she hadn't proven herself useful in the past.

“Your home will be quarantined for the foreseeable future. I suggest you make alternate living arrangements as soon as possible.”

“I don't suppose I'm allowed to _pack_ anything first?”

Carolyn seems startled. “Yes, yes. Go pack a bag. When you're ready, we'll be escorting you to another more secure location for questioning.”

“Do we _have_ to do that tonight?” groans Eve. “I've already been at this with Inspector Mun for over an hour.”

“Yes, Eve, it _has_ to be tonight.” She gestures towards the flat. “Well, go on then. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can all get some sleep.”

Eve heads back into the building. Oksana zooms out a bit and switches over to heat vision on the scope. There's two people on the second floor, presumably the men in suits. They're busy looking around the living room at the moment, but likely they won't stay there for long. They will want to do their own thorough sweep of the place.

A third person is just entering through the back door.

Oksana gets out her burner phone and dials. She watches as Eve goes to pick up her purse, which contains her phone. Eve stares at the unknown number for several rings before moving into her bedroom and closing the door. “Are you crazy?” she whisper shouts. “They're still here!”

Oksana ignores this outburst, “So, how did it go?”

“We've got a problem. A big problem. A very big-”

“Is this about MI5?”

“You _knew_ this would happen?”

“You didn't?”

“Do you know what they're going to do now?” Rather than let Oksana answer, Eve barrels on, “They're gonna examine the body...thoroughly. I'm not just talking about dental and fingerprints here, which, how the hell did you manage _that_ one...and never mind...I'm talking about hair and blood and _dna_ , Oksana. How the hell are we going to fake _that_?”

“Check your fridge.”

“What?” says Eve, clearly taken aback by the seemingly strange suggestion.

“There's a bottle of red wine I think you will appreciate very much.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Oksana?”

“You have to pack a bag, right? Put it in there. I'll wait.”

She watches as the little bald orangey-red figure moves back into the kitchen and over to where the fridge is, which is giving off a blue-white signature. Eve opens it and pulls out the bottle of wine sitting right there in front, impossible to miss.

Back in the bedroom, Eve shakes the bottle around and then freezes. Then she angrily snatches up the phone from the bed. And Oksana swears the heat signature flares up red hot for a moment but most likely it is just a trick of the imagination.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” whispers Eve indignantly. “You left this shit here _before_ the investigation began!?”

“You're welcome.”

“They could've found this for fucks sake!”

“Why would they look through your fridge, Eve? You didn't bludgeon me to death with a bottle of wine. Though perhaps it would have been a more believable murder weapon.”

The jab is picked up on this time. “You know what, if you had to deal with yourself-”

“I have in fact.”

The figure's face gets momentarily redder. “Shut up! What the hell am I supposed to do with this stuff, Oksana? I can't very well walk in there and switch the samples myself!”

“Why not?”

“What?!”

“I thought you had a relationship with Carolyn Martens?”

“We used to...but she kind of hates me now,” mutters Eve, deflating. “She blames me for her falling out with her son. You've met him, quiet, awkward guy who's good with computers?”

Oksana laughs. “Yes I know Kenny is her son, Eve. If you don't think _you're_ up to it then...”

And the implication hits home. “What, no way! I've already involved him too much as it is! Besides he's a behind the scenes kind of guy! He would freak out the moment he got there and turn himself in!”

“You don't give him enough credit.”

“Did you _see_ the way he reacted to you?”

“Well then, if you're _sure_ he's no good...”

A pause as Eve runs her fingers through her hair. Oksana can't actually _see_ the amazing curls, but either way, her fingers itch to follow suit.

Once more, she makes a fist.

“God, I'm going to kill you myself when this is all over. For real!”

“I look forward to it. But could you wear something a little nicer when you do?”

Eve freezes, peers out the window facing away. “You're watching me right now, aren't you?”

“No, of course not,” lies Oksana effortlessly. “I just know what your wardrobe is like.”

“Piss off.”

“Okay.”

“Wait!”

“Yes, Eve?”

“What about this phone call? They're definitely going to check my phone history!” And now she's pacing around. “Oh God, what about _all_ of the messages from Kenny and Elena?!”

“Don't worry. They're not there anymore.”

“What? How?”

“You've met him, quiet, awkward guy who's good with computers?”

“He can do that?”

“Apparently.”

“And there's no trace whatsoever, not even ones that tech experts could find?”

“Are you questioning Kenny's abilities?”

A sigh, “I guess not.”

“Now, don't you have a bag to pack?”

“Yeah. Hey, how did you know about that anyway?” A hand on a hip. “You _are_ watching me, aren't you? Listening too, I'd bet.”

“Okay, fine, you caught me,” admits Oksana, genuinely smiling.“I'm just looking out for you, Eve.” And she lets the moment take on a brief tenderness, because why not, before adding, “I have to. If you step out of line, I go down too.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“Before you go, Eve, there's one more thing.”

“Let me guess, you want me to kill Carolyn now.”

“Not quite. But you should probably check the back of your neck before you go with her.”

Eve starts feeling around behind all of her hair - but it just looks like there's a tumour growing there through the scope - and then stops, apparently finding the target. She holds her hand out in front of her, index and thumb pinching an invisible thing between them.

Eve sighs into the phone, all her fight gone for now. “You really are the worst,” she says grumpily and hangs up.

It's several seconds later before she realizes she's still smiling. Once she does, she rearranges to a neutral expression. There's no way that she's going to admit to herself that she actually _enjoyed_ talking to Eve. Or that it was much easier to stand her when she didn't have to _look_ at her. And that she _maybe_ regrets not calling months ago...

Eve's packing now and that's boring, so she switches back to normal scope and checks out the surrounding area. Carolyn is now out front overseeing the removal of the body. They're lifting it into an unmarked van.

And this is precisely when the others show up. A dark passenger car door opens and a balding man gets out. He walks over to Carolyn with purpose. They converse for a bit and then the man storms off angrily. Their car pulls away. Oksana makes note of their license plate, committing it to memory.

Shortly thereafter the van also leaves, in the opposite direction. Oksana pulls out a small tracking device and turns it on. A map of their current location shows up, a black dot blinking right where the van is.

If it weren't for this tracker she asked Anastasia to ingest shortly before her death, Oksana would have no idea where the body was going to end up. If she is very lucky, it will be in the same building MI5 are taking Eve now.

If not...she will have to deal with this issue herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I didn't know what last name to fucking give Eve so yeah. Have some more Grey's love lol
> 
> RIP Reggie the Raccoon. I actually don't have a problem with them...unless they go after my food. I thought about having Eve say something that catches V off guard and the raccoon gets away with her stuff...but it didn't quite work out that way. I seem to be swearing a lot more for some fucking reason.
> 
> I have no idea what MI5 might actually do for confirming the identity of a corpse beyond a shadow of a doubt. I'm pretty positive this is waaay overkill though (pun intended)...I don't even know if they have dna records to compare the corpse to...but I love making things more difficult for myself...so here we are. 
> 
> *Hilariously, this was the first book that came up for me. And it tells the (true) story of a lawyer who ends up on a troubling case with a child killer and she starts drawing parallels to her own life...


	6. Bottom of the Bottle

“ _This_ is the more secure location?” she asks incredulously.

They've just pulled up to an ASDA. A fucking ASDA.

Carolyn looks over at her from the drivers side. “Would you rather we had taken you to a windowless room in an undisclosed location?”

And damn she was right, this could be going a whole hell of a lot worse for her right about now. The worst thing that had happened between ending the call with Villanelle and getting in the car with Carolyn was that they had searched her luggage and given her a strange look about the wine bottle, but ultimately shrugged it off since it was typical of her known behaviour and habits. They had however, finally confiscated her phone. So no one knew where she was currently. Not even Villanelle. Not that Villanelle would've come to her rescue if she _had_ been taken to a windowless room someplace and denied release. Eve has no illusions there. The only person that Villanelle cares about is Villanelle. Her survival is the priority here. If a few idiots have to die in the process, so be it.

“No, I guess not.”

They get out of the car and make their way into the oversized, overstocked building. “Just like old times,” she tries to joke, remembering their first foray into the convenience store late one night.

And of course Carolyn is not amused and in no mood to humour her. Not that she _ever_ really was, come to think of it.

They walk over to the snacks section, a completely believable prospect given the time. Still remembering the drill, Eve pretends to be fascinated with the wide variety of chocolates on display, torn with indecision.

“I've already gone through the Inspector's notes, Eve, so I won't bother rehashing any of that. Your story does seem to hold up under pressure.”

Which isn't the same thing as, 'I believe you, Eve.'

“What's going to happen with that?” she wonders out loud. “With the police investigation?”

“Nothing,” replies Carolyn. “They no longer have jurisdiction. They've been told to forget it even exists.”

“But half the neighbourhood already _knows_ that someone died. How do you cover for something like that?”

“We have protocols for such things, Eve,” dismisses Carolyn. “And we're getting away from the heart of the matter.”

Carolyn holds up a familiar looking flashdrive. The original one.

“We found this on her body.”

“And?” she says, playing dumb.

“It's an encrypted drive. We can't open it.”

 _Well done, Kenny_ , she thinks, trying not to smirk.

“Still not seeing what this has to do with me, Carolyn.”

Carolyn stashes the drive back in her pocket. “Do you have any idea what's on it? Did she say anything to you before you killed her?”

“So you believe I actually did it?” she says without thinking.

Carolyn gives her a weird look, and dammit Eve, why did you say that?

Oh right, because she hasn't slept in nearly 48 hours. Her brain is practically mush at this point. She's almost as bone tired as she was back in Moscow...and Paris. It's a wonder she's still on her feet to be honest.

“Yes...you are a surprising creature, Eve. Unpredictable. One never knows what you might do next. Which is precisely why I shut down the program.”

“Right, _that's_ the reason.”

Carolyn frowns at the crisps. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

Eve wants to say, that you helped her escape prison. That you're working with The Twelve. And she may be exhausted and seemingly uncontained...but she's not stupid. Eve is at their mercy here. If she says something overly suspicious she could very well end up in a dark hole somewhere until she's old and gray. More likely, they'd just kill her outright. Eve's not sure if the 'they' here is The Twelve...or MI5 themselves. Or if they're in fact one and the same. Like how Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD early on. And goddamn it, now she's comparing her life to a dumb movie Elena made her watch one time because Captain America was so dreamy. And she wasn't wrong, but that's besides the point.

_Focus, Eve!_

“Nothing. I'm just tired. And no, I have no idea what's on the drive.”

She wonders if she should be disturbed with how effortlessly she's learning to lie.

“Pity. This appears to be a tough nut to crack.”

“Maybe if you asked Ken-”

“Kenny is better off as far away from this mess as possible,” snaps Carolyn. Then she smooths out her top, calms. “Frankly, I'm quite glad that he's set off on a different path. This business is no place for someone like him. He's far too...soft.”

Considering he was the one who broke into Carolyn's safe, stole her private letters and stomached the gross content for hours on end, Eve can't disagree stronger. Maybe Carolyn's still mad about that unorthodox play of hers?

Eve figures it's probably best to get away from sore subjects and is about to ask something else when Carolyn abruptly says,“How are you feeling?”

She's taken a bit off guard by Carolyn's sudden interest in her well being so she takes a few seconds to respond.

“I'm fine. I mean, I don't know.” She runs a hand through her hair, doing her best not to relive the bizarre altercation. “I haven't really had time to process yet. I've never killed anyone before so I'm sure I'm going to have a total breakdown later on tonight. Right now I'm just doing my best to compartmentalize and-”

“I only ask because I know how obsessed you were at one point,” interrupts Carolyn, all business. “You can't go talking about what happened tonight with anyone else. So if you're planning on staying with someone until we've cleared your home, you'll need to stick to the script we're going to give you. Otherwise, might I suggest you simply stay at a hotel?”

“I don't suppose MI5 is going to cover something like that?”

Carolyn just gives her a look.

_Figures._

Eve sighs. She's pretty sure she doesn't really have a choice here, that Carolyn's just being polite. Or well...British.

“Hotel it is.”

“Good idea.”

After a beat, “Where did you take the body?”

“That's none of your concern now, Eve.”

Great. So she has this stupid bottle of wine with Villanelle's biological components stashed inside, for no fucking reason whatsoever. She thinks Villanelle probably knew she wouldn't be able to do anything herself. That she was just messing with Eve because that's what she does. She wonders if the container inside is empty. Probably. She'll only be able to find out though once she's free.

“Then, are we done here?”

“Yes, I suppose we are. Roger will see you to...wherever it is you wish to go. Within city limits of course.”

“Of course.”

And message received loud and clear. Stay where we can see you.

 

*

 

 

Considering she's now technically a murderess, she sleeps surprisingly well. Eve tells herself it's simply because she was beyond tired. Nothing more, nothing less. The alternative – that she's A-okay with killing people - is not an option.

She stretches and yawns and rolls onto her side to check her phone, to see what time it is...only to realize that MI5 still has it in their possession. She wants to let Kenny and Elena know that everything is okay, or at least, that she's all right.

Unfortunately the hotel phone is all the way across the room and she would actually have to get out of bed to make a call. She groans, gets up and goes over. Picks up the receiver. She doesn't hear dial tone. She presses the button and listens...and once again there's nothing. Eve looks to the wall connection and notices there isn't one.

She groans to herself again. Of course they weren't going to let her communicate with anyone until they had cleared her completely. She should've known coming to the hotel was her version of a safe house. Except that it was all on her dime.

Eve sticks her head out of the room and sure enough, there is Roger, sitting there reading the morning paper. He's a nondescript looking guy, perfect for spy work. He's also not exactly the chatty type. Still, she figures she ought to at least try.

“I should probably let my boss know I won't be in today.”

“It's Sunday,” he says, without glancing up.

“People work on Sundays,” she informs him. “It's a brave new world.”

“Do _you_ work on Sundays?”

“Well, no but-”

“There you have it then.”

Indignantly, “You guys can't just keep me here. I didn't do anything wrong.”

And wow, she can't believe that came out of her mouth with a straight face.

“If that's true then you've got nothing to worry about. You'll be on your merry way in no time. Now, if you don't mind, ma'am, I was just in the middle of reading about a woman who got her head stuck in an exhaust pipe.”

What the fuck.

“You're joking. That's not possible.”

“You can read the article after me if you don't believe me.”

The battle lost (for now) Eve closes the door, runs her fingers through her hair, snags them almost immediately. Then she remembers that she's long over do for a shower.

Disrobed, she steps into the welcome warmth and just stands there for nearly a minute unmoving, savouring, hoping to wash away the figurative blood on her hands and the gruesome images now etched into her minds eye. Failing at this task, she cries for awhile. Curses Villanelle again. Hating her. Hating herself. She wishes she could go back in time and stop herself from ever even looking into the first case, the first connection to Villanelle. Erase her completely from her timeline. She knows it's impossible though, their fates are intertwined now until death. The thought brings back Anastasia's bloody face to mind, which makes her start crying all over again.

Finally she manages to compose herself.

Then she gets to work on her disastrous hair.

Afterwards she stands in front of the mirror, stares at herself. Looks for any clues that she's suddenly a different person, that the truth of her actions is laid bare for all to see.

There's nothing though. She appears as she's always appeared. A slightly tired looking middle aged Asian woman with amazing hair. And according to Villanelle, body. Eve runs her hands up and down herself like she did when she wore the dress. She closes her eyes and for a moment tries to imagine Villanelle is touching her.

When she gets to her abdomen though, the scar comes to mind and the knife and all of the blood, and the fantasy abruptly comes to an end. Eve knows she should feel ashamed about still wanting Villanelle, especially now that she's sober. Especially after last night and what she made her party to, but for some reason Eve doesn't.

She thinks there's probably very little Villanelle could do that would actually turn her off for good.

And that's a highly disturbing realization.

Who was she? And what was she turning into?

Her stomach rumbles. She dries off fully, gets dressed and heads down to breakfast. Only to find that it's more like brunch. Apparently she slept for nearly thirteen hours. She hadn't done that since she was sick with the flu some years back and considerably drugged up. She remembers how Niko catered to her every whim, how she felt so grateful and in love with him. To be loved _by_ him.

Eve figures Villanelle would kill her if she ever made her sick.

Her smile fades as she picks up a plate and starts piling it with half cold, somewhat soggy buffet food.

Part way through her eclectic meal, she notices someone watching her. At first she assumes it's just Roger. But Roger is standing behind her in the corner by the windows. Still reading the damn newspaper. Or at least, pretending to.

This bearded man across the room is slimmer. Wearing sunglasses. Indoors.

And seriously? Did Villanelle have a death wish? A _real_ one?

And what did she even expect Eve to _do_? It's not like she can go over there right now and strike up a conversation without being suspicious.

Almost as if reading her mind, the man gets up and heads off in the direction of the bathrooms.

Eve waits a few moments before following suit.

When she gets around the corner, out of view of Roger, she fully expects Villanelle to be waiting for her. But she isn't.

Eve first pokes her head into the women's washroom, only to find that it too is empty.

She then pushes into the men's room. Finds the man about to be busy at one of the urinals. Vaguely she finds it strange how committed Villanelle is being to this role of hers.

“What was so urgent that you had to come here right now?”

“Bloody hell!” exclaims the man. “What the hell are you doing in here lady?! Can't you read?!”

Eve blinks in confusion and then mortification.

How many more unsuspecting men would she scare the literal piss out of?

“Oh, I thought you were someone else,” she tries to explain, hurriedly, backing off a bit.

“Piss off then!” he demands of her. “I'm not about to pass water with someone like _you_ standing right next to me.”

And what the hell was _that_ supposed to mean?

“Excuse me?” she says darkly, hands on hips.

“You heard me,” he says with extreme loathing.

Eve wishes she had the gun in her hands again. Though perhaps it was for the best that she didn't. Two murders in less than twenty-four hours was a bit much.

Eve settles instead on kicking him in the shin as hard as possible.

“Oye!” he yelps, going to clutch his leg, letting his racist junk go. “Bitch!”

She doesn't spare it a glance, just hightails it out of there as fast as possible, practically laughing with how giddy she is at acting out. At being naughty.

She power walks back to her room, Roger several steps behind.

The rest of the day goes by without incident.

Which means her bathroom antics were the extent of her excitement for the day.

And that she's bored out of her mind.

Then she remembers the bottle of red wine stashed in the mini-fridge.

This she retrieves and holds up to the light as close as she can get. Eve can't make anything out though, so she unwraps the foil and screws the top off. There was no previous indication it had been opened. She wonders how on earth Villanelle managed this.

Whatever, the bottle's opened now and she sniffs at it like she did with the perfume all that time ago. It smells wonderfully inviting in a way that the perfume no longer does.

She doesn't go rubbing it on herself though.

She decides not to drink it either. It's not that she thinks Villanelle has poisoned the wine. It's just that she doesn't want to get drunk tonight. And she knows if she starts, and there's no one around to stop her, and there's nothing else to do, she will.

Besides there was the whole allusion to Christ and drinking his blood _and_ body at the same time which was vaguely disconcerting. She isn't actually religious, and she knows Villanelle isn't either, but she wouldn't put it passed her to think something along the same lines. Ever the showman.

So instead Eve takes the full bottle of wine into the bathroom and pours it down the sink.

Well, she puts the stopper in place first, just in case. She's not quite sure how big this container actually is. Clearly Villanelle is talented, but not so talented as to have stuck a ship in here.

When the bottles nearly drained, there's a clink and a plop and the container is half sinking, half floating. Like there's something giving it a bit of buoyancy, but not so much that it was at the top of the bottle.

She puts the mostly empty bottle aside on top of the toilet tank and reaches into the sink. The cylindrical container is about the length of her middle finger and is fairly egg shaped, and she wonders if this is a jab at their previous miscommunication about the basket. She also wonders if Villanelle was being serious, or if she was just trying to get a rise out of her.

_When in doubt, go for the latter._

Eve runs some water over top to clean it off. She dries it on the hand towel hanging there and takes it back to the bed.

Again, she holds it up to the light. Again, she can't see through.

She also can't really tell how to open it.

There don't appear to be any holes or clasps or indents or any way to turn or unscrew, push or pull. Eve even tries biting into it. Nothing seems to be giving way in the slightest.

It's only after about an hour of this that she realizes there is nothing inside.

Like she had wearily speculated the night before but completely forgotten until now.

Extremely irritated, she throws it against the wall on the other side of the room.

And that's when she hears the crack. Like a fucking egg.

Eve gets off the bed and goes to investigate. She's slightly fearful that she's destroyed whatever was inside.

Mostly though, she's curious.

She looks around for the spilled contents.

When she finally finds it, she nearly screams.

It's just another fucking container.

Like those fucking Matryoshka dolls.

Eve picks this up and smashes it on the ground too, revealing yet another container.

She repeats this process three more times until she finally gets to the last teeny tiny one.

Then she reaches down and picks up the rolled bit of paper.

It's coated in the damn perfume, the one she can't stand anymore.

She knows exactly what it's going to say before she unveils it.

And sure enough, ' _sorry baby, x_ ' is written there.

Eve is so annoyed that she has to bite her tongue this time to keep it in.

The taste of blood is enough to get her to chill out.

Then she looks around the room, at the broken shards, at the mess she's just made, and understands that _this_ was Villanelle's intention all along.

As payback for her Paris flat.

And Jesus Christ, she needs a drink.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was gonna make it Walmart then remembered this is the UK...so it had to be ASDA...but Walmart owns ASDA so it's essentially the same thing now I guess
> 
> I never got this part of the show...why were they meeting in random convenience stores and butcher shops? I know in spy things it's supposed to be like, pretend you don't know me, be fascinated by the produce...but like...I think they even WALKED to the convenience store FROM EVE'S HOUSE and ENTERED it together...so was this just supposed to be a joke or am I missing something?
> 
> The exhaust pipe thing is a real thing. 
> 
> To be honest, I had no idea where I was going with the wine thing...so hopefully this doesn't completely suck and feel like a waste of time. I mean, that was kind of the point...but I don't like reading meandering things myself if I can help it at all, and you probably agree with this statement. There should always be a purpose to every single word that someone writes. If there isn't then they shouldn't include it. Unless you're a Victorian author back in the day who would get paid literally by the word, so you wax poetic about the colour of the sun for two full fucking pages and write monster fucks like Gone With The Wind. Which incidentally isn't even a Victorian novel but it goes on and on and on like one and I never actually managed to get through the whole thing. Or the movie version either. The only movie longer than 3 hours I've ever watched was an extended edition of Lord of The Rings. It needed an entire extra hour just so they could include a conversation between The Ents, who talk so slowly you think you're watching that fucking DMV scene from Zootopia which incidentally was a great movie. I'm not a big fan of animated works but that's one I've seen more than once and would probably watch again. I generally avoid revisiting kids movies from my past since they almost always disappoint and then the nice memory gets ruined forever, but at least I don't cry about it like a little fanboy bitch whenever they remake something with girls. And I would definitely give my left tit for them to make an all girl cast of Lord of The Rings. And speaking of tits, did you know that we have two of them because on average humans give birth to only one child at a time and every mammal has twice the number the species needs? Which is good because nature abhors asymmetry and so do our brains and we'd never get used to the cyclops tit.


	7. Dinner on High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this early gift of mine! I had a lot of fun writing this one. :)

“They've just let me go so I guess you managed to swap out the samples?”

“Yes, Eve. Not to brag but it was fairly simple too.”

“Simple. You're...something else, Oksana. Absolutely insane, but pretty amazing too.”

“Thank you, Eve. That's sweet of you to say.”

“Shut up. I wasn't trying to be sweet. You're still a dick for throwing me into the deep end like that. And don't even get me _started_ on that damn bottle of wine...”

“Let me make it up to you then.”

There's a pause. “What did you have in mind?”

 

*

They're in a fancy restaurant now, up high overlooking the city. There's a bouquet of flowers between them, as well as a couple of candles for ambiance in the softly lit space. Their chairs are see-through, made of glass, like Cinderella's slipper. Giant X's criss-cross through the domed windows all around, forming triangular patterns.

Eve is wearing pearl earrings and a heart shaped necklace. Her hair is full bodied, but tame now. She's dressed in a sleek black number that hugs her curves in all the right ways. She's even wearing a bit of smokey eye makeup. In short, Oksana can't take her eyes off her.

Oksana is similarly dolled up, her hair atop her head in an intricate braid, jewels intertwined almost like a crown. Her dress is a short cocktail one, pink of course, that's putting her beautiful toned legs and lovely tits fully on display.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” says Eve, glancing around nervously. “This is very...public.”

“Are you embarrassed to be seen with me, Eve?” she teases.

“You know what I mean,” says Eve rolling her eyes. “You're not in a disguise...and you never know who's watching.”

“There's no one watching us right now,” she says. She slides an embossed menu towards Eve. “Order whatever you'd like.”

Eve looks at her suspiciously. “You're not just going to leave suddenly and make me front the entire bill, are you?”

“Of course not. This is on me. My way of saying thank you.” 

Eve still doesn't seem convinced. “I thought you had no money?”

“I never said that. If you'll recall, you didn't let me explain. You're right, I have no _new_ funds...my resources are cut off...but The Twelve paid me mostly in cash and I've stashed some of this in various different countries over the years.”

“You mean, you've left money with random women in other places too?”

She smiles. “Something like that.”

Eve is thoughtful for a bit. “I guess safety deposit boxes don't really work for someone like you?”

“Not so much,” she confirms. “Not if I want anonymity.”

Eve perks up. “So _that's_ why you were in Bletcham, wasn't it?” She clenches her jaw slightly. “Treating all of those...women...”

“Melvin was exaggerating. It was not so many. Just two before you.” She smirks. “And no I didn't sleep with them.”

“I wasn't going to ask that,” says Eve, flustered, fiddling with her cutlery.

“But you were thinking it,” replies Oksana knowingly. 

“No. I wasn't,” persists Eve.

Flippantly, “Okay, Eve. I believe you.” She pauses a beat. “I didn't sleep with her. Anastasia.”

Eve seems taken aback briefly. Then, “Okay, Oksana, I believe you.”

“No really. I didn't!” she says, face animated. “I never even told her my real name. Didn't you notice?”

“You really didn't sleep with her?” says Eve, dubiously.

“Of course not, Eve. She was crazy. I could never be with someone who doesn't have a mind for themselves.”

While maintaining eye contact, she places a hand over top Eve's. Eve doesn't pull away this time...or try to stab her. She rubs her thumb against Eve's skin the same way Eve did in the pub. They remain in this casually intimate attitude for some moments.

Then the music happens to change, and she notices that Eve has reacted to it. And no wonder, it's _that_ guy's music.

Still, not one to waste an opportunity she says, “Would you like to dance?”

Eve is flustered again. “But we haven't even ordered yet.”

Oksana raises an eyebrow. “That wasn't an answer, Eve.”

She strokes her hand again in an attempt to tip the odds in her favour.

“Okay, yes,” gulps Eve. “I would like to dance.”

Oksana smiles at her and gets up, holds out her hand. Eve waits a few beats before taking it. She can feel that Eve is trembling slightly, which just makes her smile wider. Oksana laces their fingers together as they make their way to the dance floor in the middle of the restaurant.

No one else is dancing right now, it's just the two of them. The literal centre of attention.

Oksana doesn't hesitate before placing a hand on Eve's waist and holding out the other palm up.

Once again, Eve is slower to respond, as if at any moment she might change her mind and run away.

In the end she takes Oksana's hand, her other one on Oksana's shoulder.

They start to move to the music, sway, as it were. After a few short circuits, once Eve has relaxed a bit, she tightens her hold, drawing Eve closer to her body. Thankfully Eve doesn't resist this maneuver and they're practically nose to nose now.

“You look very sexy tonight, Eve,” she says, holding her gaze.

Eve full on blushes at the overt compliment, glances away. “Thank you.” She looks back up, eyes stilling on her tits for a bit. “You look very nice too, Oksana.”

“Just nice?” she scoffs. “I'll have you know I put a lot of effort into my hair.”

Eve blinks at that. “You mean...you're not wearing a wig?”

She scrunches up her face. “No, Eve. This is my real hair. Would you like to touch it?”

Eve looks at her funny. “Uh, that's okay. I wouldn't want to mess up all your hard work.”

“I don't mind.”

“No, that's okay,” reiterates Eve. “I think I'll pass.” A pause. “Wait, were you just offering because you wanted to touch _my_ hair?”

“Maybe,” she says slyly. “Can I?”

“I'd rather you didn't mess it up,” smiles Eve. “It finally looks nice.”

“Fine then,” she fake pouts. 

Eve rolls her eyes again. “Okay, fine. You can touch it if it means that much to you.”

Oksana smirks and then takes both her hands off Eve in order to put her fingers in her hair, drawing them down slowly, savouring the moment. Eve closes her eyes in apparent pleasure which just pleases Oksana further. She brings her hands down to Eve's neck, lingers there for a bit, leaving a few gentle caresses, then trails all the way back down to Eve's waist, leans in close, and inhales deeply like she did in the kitchen. Eve smells exactly the same too, just as she remembers. Ravishing.

“You're wearing it,” she says into her ear.

“Yes. I am.”

And Eve's voice sounds a little deeper. Her arms are d rapped around Oksana's neck now.

“Do you still masturbate about me, Oksana?”

“Yes.” 

“How often?”

“All the time.”

“Even after I stabbed you?”

“ _Especially_ since then. It's like I told you, Eve, I thought it was incredibly sexy that you could actually do that to me.”

There's a brief silence.

“I've masturbated about you too,” confesses Eve, giving her shivers.

Oksana is very excited now. She draws Eve even closer. Their bodies are touching everywhere now, embracing more fully than they ever have before.

“Do you want to go somewhere more private?”

“Why? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?”

Oksana laughs. “You know what I mean.” She caresses the side of her neck with her nose. “I can do amazing things with my tongue.” She leaves a tiny, barely there kiss.

There's a slight hitch of breath. “I don't doubt it. But I'd rather have what you promised me first.”

“And what would that be?”

There's a lengthy pause. The tension is killing her.

“Dinner,” says Eve.

“You are such a tease, Eve,” she complains.

Eve laughs. “Trust me, Oksana, it will be worth the wait.”

“I've already _been_ waiting,” she continues to complain. “For almost a year now. I've never waited that long for _anyone_.”

“Aw, poor baby,” says Eve, still clearly amused. She moves out of their embrace and pats her on the cheek. “Now, go buy me the most expensive bottle of red wine here or you'll be waiting much longer than tonight.”

Oksana grumbles but goes to do as she says. 

Grumbles some more when they tell her it's nearly a thousand dollars. 

Grumbles all throughout dinner because Eve keeps running her bare foot up and down her calf, driving her crazy.

When dinner is finally done, she tries to rush them off someplace else, but Eve insists on going out to the observation deck so that she can watch the sunset.

Oksana nearly screams at her. Relents instead.

Both her hands are in Eve's hair again and they're on the verge of kissing, when Eve says, “I want to take your picture.”

“What?”

“Go stand over there.”

“Fine,” she says gritting her teeth. “But after this, we're going to have sex, yes?”

“Of course,” replies Eve with a smile.

Oksana leans against the glass and scowls.

“You've got to do better than that. Smile, Oksana. Aren't you glad to be here with me?”

Oksana forces herself to smile.

Eve takes out her phone.

Except, on second glance, it isn't a phone.

It's a gun.

And before she can react, the glass is shattering and she is falling and-

Oksana wakes up on the floor of the treehouse.

“Stupid bitch,” she mutters. 

And she's not sure if she's referring to herself or Eve.

Either way, she's very horny now so she gets back in the kids bed and angrily masturbates.

Once that's accomplished, she gets her stuff together and leaves. It may still be dark out but she's not going to risk going back to sleep again.

It's early Sunday morning, around five, so it's completely dead out right now. There's barely even any birds making a racket. Which is good because if there were, she'd probably start screaming at them to shut up, which wouldn't exactly help her lay low for however long she needs to.

Only about three hours have passed from the point that she swapped out the samples to the point that she went to bed. So now she's extremely cranky and in need of a pick me up. But of course nothing is actually opened yet.

Oksana seriously feels like killing the first person she comes across. Just taking their head in her hands and giving it one good snap.

But she supposes leaving a trail of bodies near the crime scene would also not be conducive to laying low, so she stops herself just in time.

Instead she steals a motorcycle and goes for a joyride.

She doesn't have any plans at this point in time. Kenny hasn't come up with anything for her yet, and even if he did, she can't act on that information until MI5, but more specifically The Twelve, fall for the con. And despite the minor hiccups along the way, she's sure they will. They have to. Oksana is not about to spend the rest of her life in hiding.

She's spent too much of it in prison as it is. 

She's on the highway now, so she cranks the engine way up, goes faster and faster until the rushing, howling wind and the thrill of it all finally starts to take effect, her mood lifting accordingly. If her bag wasn't slung across the back, she might have even attempted a wheelie. It was probably for the best though. Even she knows she's going way too fast for something like that.

She may be reckless most of the time, but she's not suicidal.

She drives around until daylight, until the first coffee shop opens. She goes in, gets a macchiato, a peach danish, and a macadamia muffin. Flirts with the barista non-stop. There's still no one around, so she attempts a seduction, but it's unsuccessful. She 'accidentally' knocks over some chairs and other things on the way out.

She wanders around this quaint town for an hour but it's beyond boring. There isn't even a movie theatre.

Back on the motorcycle, she heads to a national park and decides to go for a hike. She's been sitting around a lot these past couple of weeks and she's put on a few pounds as a result. Oksana's greatest fear is that one day she will get fat. No, that wasn't true. Her greatest fear is that she will get fat _and_ ugly. That's why she gets so angry every time someone throws something at her gorgeous face. Not so much because it hurts, but more because she's afraid of being permanently disfigured.

The hike is unforgiving and more than she bargained for, so she is quite sweaty and out of breath by the time she gets to the top of the lookout. The view is worth the effort though and she is rather enjoying herself until some other assholes come and ruin her peace and quiet. They even have the gall to hit on her. Repeatedly. She insults them repeatedly but they're too stupid to pick up on this and leave her alone.

She thinks of pushing them off the cliff, but settles for bashing their heads together and kicking them a few times for good measure...and pleasure.

Oksana leaves and goes back down, back to the lake she came across on the way up. She strips completely and goes for a swim, diving in effortlessly.

The water is freezing but invigorating and she's very awake by the time she gets out. 

After about half an hour of sunbathing, she gets dressed and goes in search of more food.

Things continue in a similar vein until Kenny finally calls three days later.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #SorryNotSorry. The day I don't include a dream sequence in a multi-chap fic is the day I die.
> 
> Be honest, how many of you thirsty hoes fell for this?
> 
> Well, Eve finally got some payback on V...but she doesn't even know it. :p
> 
> Who else loves that even in V's subconscious she can't get E to sleep with her? Lmao.


	8. The Devil That You Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Canada Day, You Fucks!

 

Three days later and she's finally released from her cage. Carolyn personally comes by to hand her back her phone and inform her that everything has checked out. Honestly, Eve is surprised. She thought for sure she... _they_...had given themselves away more than once. The way Anastasia was shot alone should've rang the alarm bells and had Eve in handcuffs.

But apparently they believed she really was just that naturally gifted at shooting people. She figures they couldn't come up with any other explanation. The reality of the situation was too far fetched. Even for MI5. Which must have been saying something.

In any case, the first thing she does is take her phone to Kenny to make sure it isn't being illegally monitored in any way. Once he confirms that she is in the all clear, she calls up Elena to let her know that everything is fine. She hesitates longer before calling Keiko. Eve doesn't really know what to say to her. She's missed days of work without explanation. Sure, MI5 gave her something to tell people, but she doesn't feel like it's good enough where Keiko is concerned. Eve feels like she deserves the truth, the whole truth. But she's far too chicken shit to ever tell her.

So instead the conversation is short and awkward, and she swears she can feel the hostility coming off of Keiko even over the phone.

And now here she is, back at her mind-numbingly boring and annoying job, listening to yet another client blather on about their stupendous vision for their crappy tv commercial, as if she hadn't just been party to a surreal murder and wondering when she might see said murderer again.

As if in answer to her unspoken query, a fancy ass bouquet of flowers shows up at her desk over the lunch break. It's ridiculously large, taking up all available space on her desk and then some.

It's so ostentatious that it's drawn the attention of several of her co-workers. She's barely tried to get to know any of them. She doesn't want to get to know them. She doesn't want to work here forever. Or even another day.

They tease her about having a secret admirer, to which she just glares, making them scatter. Eve snatches up the card poking through the azaleas. For once it's not coated in that fucking perfume. Or maybe she just can't tell with the pungent aroma all around her?

The card says, ' _I think about you all the time. Without you, my life would be incomplete.'_ *

She looks up and notices Keiko watching her, observing the situation, and despite all evidence to the contrary, for one sweet second she thinks maybe Keiko sent her these. Her heart even flutters at the thought. But then Keiko scowls in her general direction and practically slams the door to her office.

Eve is somewhat startled. Keiko almost never lets her true emotions show, and definitely not at work. She is ever the professional. Except for today.

She knows it's probably very stupid of her to do this, but she does it anyway.

Timidly, she knocks on Keiko's door.

When there is no response, she pushes in regardless.

“Did I _say_ you could enter?” she snaps. Apparently Eve looks bewildered enough that Keiko sighs and more calmly says, “What do you want, Eve?”

There's still an edge there, so Eve treads lightly. “Is everything okay? You seem...off today.”

“I'm fine,” replies Keiko, looking straight at her.

“Really? Because you don't seem fine,” she says skeptically. “You seem mad. Specifically at me.”

“I'm not.”

Eve just gives her a look.

Keiko sighs again, rubs at her face. “Okay, fine. I am.”

“Is this about my absence? Because I'm really sorry about that and I promise it won't happen again and-”

“So you already said,” cuts in Keiko. She sighs yet again, rests her head on her propped up hand. “I should fire you, you know.”

“Please do,” she says, genuinely meaning it. Not just because it's what she deserves, but because it's what she wants.

Keiko gives her a funny look, as if she hadn't been expecting that. “I'm not going to though. You don't deserve my mercy. Or my forgiveness.”

“What do I have to do to make it up to you?” she practically blurts out.

Keiko seems to perk up slightly at the question. “Well, I _would_ suggest that you make me dinner...but I'd rather not get severe food poisoning again thank you very much.”

And Eve is relieved to see that Keiko is smiling slightly now. Which makes her smile too.

“That was _one_ time,” defends Eve. “And besides which, I've gotten much better.” Keiko raises an eyebrow. “Okay, no I haven't. But I'm sure there's _something_ I can make that wouldn't send you to the ER again.”

“You sent _five_ people to the ER that _one_ time, Eve. Heaven knows what will happen if we ever let you in the kitchen again. You're liable to kill someone the next time.”

And at that comment, her face falls.

“Hey, I wasn't being serious,” adds Keiko, clearly taking note of her expression. “You're not _that_ bad. You just need to learn some patience.” She pauses slightly, gives Eve an undecipherable look. “I could give you some...private lessons if you'd like.”

“No, you're right,” mutters Eve, staring at the ground, willing herself to keep it together. “I'm a lost cause.”

Keiko gets up from her desk and comes over to her, places a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, are you all right?”

And then because she hasn't had any human contact following her ordeal, she practically flings herself into Keiko's arms and starts silently crying on her shoulder. Keiko is clearly taken aback because she doesn't react for a few seconds. Then she wraps her arms around Eve, holds her tight.

“Eve, what on earth has happened? Why have you _really_ been AWOL since Friday?”

And of course Keiko hadn't bought the bullshit story. She was way too smart for that.

“I can't tell you,” she answers, voice thick with tears and emotion. “I want to, but I can't.”

Keiko sighs deeply and just continues to hold her tight for several more minutes, rubbing at her back periodically, until she's calmed down and passed the worst of her embarrassing non-workplace related breakdown. Thankfully the blinds were drawn, so at least the entire office doesn't know.

They break apart and Eve wipes away the last of her tears with the backs of her hands. They just stare at one another for awhile. Keiko's looking at her like she's trying to solve a mystery. Then her expression changes to a more congenial one.

“Feeling up to a night in?” says Keiko rubbing Eve's arm a few times.

Her immediate reaction is to say no, but then she actually clues in to what Keiko has just said. “A night _in_?”

Keiko nods. “Ruri's been asking for you again.”

She notices Keiko is faintly smiling some more.

“Just Ruri?” she says, arching an eyebrow.

The smile gets a little larger. “Hernando's noted your absence as well. Keeps complaining about all the food going to waste.”

“Oh well in that case, how can I say no?” she says playing along.

“Don't think this means you're off the hook,” says Keiko seriously. “You still owe me. Big time.”

“I'm sure there's _some_ way I can make it up to you,” she says just as seriously.

Keiko seems quite pleased by this response, her eyes have even lit up. She cocks her head towards the shutters, towards the flowers. “Should I be jealous?”

“I don't know, _should_ you?”

And wait a minute. Is she flirting with Keiko right now? Is Keiko flirting back? Is that what's happening? Or is she completely misreading the situation? She's not very good at telling when people, but especially _women_ , are flirting with her. With the exception of Villanelle that is. She's about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Or a rusty chainsaw. Or a wrecking-ball that's on fire.

Hard to misunderstand something like, _I masturbate about you a lot_.

Well, that wasn't so much flirting as broadcasting in flashing neon lights but it definitely got the job done. And now the image literally pops into her head and she is getting distracted from the here and now.

“No, seriously, Eve, who's your secret admirer?”

Somehow she keeps her cool. “It's a secret for a _reason_ , Keiko.”

_Because in this case, the admirer is your husband's murderer. And if I told you that, you'd hate me forever._

And that snaps her right back to reality real fast.

“Well, I'll see you tonight then,” says Eve concluding this...whatever this is...as soon as possible.

And because she's somewhat flustered now, she goes and kisses Keiko on the cheek.

She _never_ kisses Keiko on the cheek.

In fact, they barely ever even touch. They've probably touched more in the last ten minutes than they have in their entire acquaintance. The only exceptions being shortly after Bill's death and when she broke up with Niko for good.

Keiko blushes slightly which is a very bizarre thing to witness for Eve, which makes her feel stupid, so she blushes even more and then hightails it out of there before she can do something even more embarrassing like _actually_ kiss her.

And fuck, she _so_ did not think today was going to go this way. She blames Villanelle. When things go badly for her, it's usually her fault.

Except, it's not so much that things are going badly for her right now, it's just that she's incredibly conflicted about the sudden realization that she maybe kind of has a thing for Keiko and she maybe kind of wants something to happen there. But how can she do that when she's still in contact with Villanelle and she maybe kind of wants something to happen there _too_?

How fucked up would she be if she actively pursued both of them?

Or _either_ of them for that matter?

And shit, was it too early to start drinking?

 

*

 

They're on the couch after dinner, glasses of wine in hand. Chef Fuentes has gone home for the night. Ruri's been put to bed hours ago. It's just the two of them now and the conversation is beginning to lag, and Keiko keeps giving her this _look_ that Eve's having trouble deciphering. Or well, that's a total lie, the problem is that Eve _isn't_ having trouble deciphering things at this point, and she understands _exactly_ what Keiko wants right now. And Eve would like to say fuck it and go for it, but she can't bring herself to do it.

And now she's freaking out that Keiko might get tired of waiting and make a move herself and Eve doesn't know how she would deal with that. So she's practically crawling out of her skin when the doorbell rings, and she jumps up nearly splashing wine on herself and goes to answer it.

If she were in her right mind, she might have wondered who would be calling at nearly ten o'clock at night.

As it is, she's completely taken aback to find Villanelle standing there, and if Villanelle didn't have catlike reflexes, the glass of wine would certainly have made its way to the carpeted floor right here.

But she does, so Eve is saved the hassle of cleaning up yet _another_ wine spill this week.

When Villanelle rights herself, with the wine in hand, nary a drop spilled, Eve takes note of the fact that Villanelle's hair is down. Eve has never seen her with her hair down. Not in real life anyway. And she finally clues in that Villanelle hasn't been wearing wigs all this time. It's her actual hair. Her natural hair. Like in the school photograph she stole from Anna.

She also notices that Villanelle is wearing tortoise shell glasses. Which, Eve is having mixed feelings about, not unlike the man bun.

But the thing that _really_ grabs her attention is that Villanelle is pregnant.

They just stare at one another.

Eve in confusion and shock.

Villanelle in calculated amusement.

Apparently they stay that way for so long that Keiko comes to see what's going on.

“Seriously, Eve,” says Villanelle in her British accent, handing back the glass of wine, “don't you know I can't have that?” Villanelle rubs at her bulging stomach. She must be eight months pregnant. “It wouldn't be good for the baby.”

“Really, Eve?” chastises Keiko. “You offered a clearly pregnant woman wine?”

“I...uh...”

“Hello,” says Keiko, now by her side. She looks to Eve, but when Eve doesn't introduce them, Keiko holds out her hand. “Who are you and how do you know Eve here?”

Villanelle takes her hand and Eve feels like she's gonna be sick. Not only because she hates that they're interacting right now but she's deathly afraid of what's about to come out of Villanelle's mouth.

Villanelle must know exactly what she's thinking because she gives her a sly little smile and says, “Oh, Eve and I go _way_ back. From the agency. M y name's Natalie.”

“And what brings you to my door so late, Natalie?” says Keiko, a hint of irritation peeking through. And Eve just knows that Keiko was moments away from making a move before the doorbell rang.

On the one hand, she's grateful for the timely interruption.

On the other, she's now figuratively shitting bricks.

This situation could go horribly wrong very quickly.

Villanelle has the power to completely upend her entire life if she wants to.

Even knowing it will have zero impact, Eve tries to silently plead with her.

Whatever Villanelle plans to do, Villanelle will do.

“Well,” says Villanelle, “I just _happened_ to be in the neighbourhood when I noticed my old work buddy on the couch there.”

Villanelle ruffles Eve's hair affectionately and Eve bites her cheek to compose herself.

“You just happened to be in the neighbourhood?” says Keiko skeptically.

And good on her. That was such an obvious lie and beneath Villanelle's abilities.

“I know, what a crazy coincidence!” exclaims Villanelle, rather loudly. But still many decibels below her greeting with Kenny.

“Please, keep your voice down,” says Keiko. “My daughter is fast asleep. I'd rather not have to-”

And just as she's saying this, there's clear sounds of distress from above.

Keiko grits her teeth and says, “Well, it was nice meeting you, Natalie, but I need to go deal with that, so if you'll excuse us-”

“Actually,” says Villanelle, hand keeping the door propped open, “do you mind if I borrow my buddy here for a bit?” She looks to Eve. “I just wouldn't be able to _forgive_ myself if I didn't take this opportunity to catch up.”

“That's up to Eve I'd imagine,” replies Keiko. There's another wail from above. “I really do have to go deal with that now.”

And then Keiko is gone and it's just the two of them.

Villanelle takes the opportunity to stroll right into Keiko's home.

Finally Eve comes to her senses. “What are you _doing_?” she hisses.

“Having a look around, obviously,” says Villanelle, pushing her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. And maybe just maybe the glasses are starting to grow on her.

Villanelle beelines to the mantle place and picks up a family photograph. Of the three of them. Keiko, Ruri...and Bill. They look ecstatically happy. But in an understated British sort of way.

“How adorable,” says Villanelle. She looks up at Eve. Smiles. “The girl has her father's eyes.”

And goddammit, she's gonna kill her. For real this time.

Eve grabs Villanelle by the arm and bodily drags her out back. She figures Villanelle must be letting her do this or there's no way she'd be moving her so expeditiously....or at all.

They exit through the sliding glass doors and into Keiko's well kept garden. It's quite large and impressive, and hang on...some of these flowers look awfully familiar. But it's dark out here and she's probably just imagining things.

But what if she isn't...

What if Villanelle has already been here?

“You didn't,” she says.

Villanelle smiles in response. “Didn't _what_ , Eve?”

“You _did_? _Didn't_ you?”

“I really have no idea what you're talking about,” says Villanelle shaking her head, still smiling.

Eve grounds her teeth together, practically drags Villanelle into a bush closer to the back of the lot.

“You're unbelievable.”

“Thank you.”

“Why did you come here?” she snaps, albeit in a subdued way. “Do you _want_ me to hate you? Is _that_ what you want?”

“I don't want anything from you, Eve.”

She laughs humourlessly. “Oh sure, just my neck on the chopping block for your own damned life. I'm sure you were having a real laugh over it.”

“We're passed that. They bought it.”

“They almost didn't.”

“But they did. We're in the clear.”

“I don't suppose you're going to even _bother_ thanking me?”

“I thought I already did that?” smirks Villanelle, glancing towards the flowers again.

And she's fuming now.

“If you owe me _anything_ it's a real answer to my question. _Why_ , Bill?”

“I told you why.”

“No, you didn't. You gave me some bullshit about him slowing me down. I know you're a psychopath, Oksana, but there's _got_ to me more to it than that.”

Even in the dark, she notices that Villanelle flinches at the 'stupid' word again.

“Why? Why does it matter to you if there is or isn't, Eve?”

Villanelle's searching her face and now she feels put upon.

“Because...”

“Because what?”

“Because I _need_ there to be a real reason!” she explodes. Then quiets down a bit. “You killed my best friend of ten years, Oksana! Right in front of me! Do you have _any_ idea what that feels like?! Can you even _conceive_ of that kind of pain?! Have you ever even felt a single _iota_ of empathy in your entire fucking miserable life?! Are you capable of that?! You don't like the word, _psychopath_. Maybe you don't think it applies to you, not totally. Then fucking prove it! Show me that you aren't just a mindless killing machine! That you can actually fucking control yourself when things don't go your way! Give me _something!_ ”

And Villanelle is looking at her dangerously. And Eve knows she's probably just crossed a line.

“If I didn't have any control of myself, Eve, you would be dead right now,” answers Villanelle darkly. “I would have killed you months ago. I planned to. I wanted to. I was all set to...but when the time came...I found I couldn't.”

And Eve isn't surprised by this revelation. Villanelle had made a similar claim shortly after their reunion. She _is_ surprised however that Villanelle had come so close to _actually_ doing it. She thought Villanelle had meant it in more of an offhand way back in Bletcham. An idle threat. Not a nearly completed prophecy. 

She should be unsettled. Instead, she's just intrigued.

“Why?”

And now Villanelle looks like the one who is being put upon. “I don't know why. I just couldn't.”

Eve puts her hands in her hair, on top of her head, as if she's trying to contain her own crazy. Or her own murderous rage.

“God, I've got a perfectly wonderful woman in there waiting for me. I'm sure she would have me if I asked. But I'm not going to. I'm never going to. And do you want to know why?” She jabs Villanelle in the chest. “Because I'm so fucked up in the head that you're _still_ the only thing I can think about. Even after all this time. Even after every fucked up thing you've done...and will continue to do. So give me the _real_ reason. _Why_ , Bill?!”

Villanelle seems to be considering her options. Then almost hesitantly says, “He stopped me from following you.”

“What?”

“I was trying to get on the train to follow you and he stopped me.”

“ _And_?”

“And he touched me without my permission.”

Eve gives a strangled laugh. “You killed him because he _touched_ you?”

“Without my permission,” reiterates Villanelle, as if this is a very important detail. “I don't like it when men do that.”

That gives her pause. A slight hope starts to blossom. “Did something happen? Were you abused? Is that why you castrate them?”

Villanelle looks at her for a long time before responding. “I could tell you a sad story if you'd like. How my drunken father used to beat on my mom and me. How I couldn't stop him. How I thought about killing him everyday. How I took it out on the kids at school instead.” She pauses. “But I'd be lying, Eve. Nothing bad happened to me as a child that I didn't bring upon myself.” She shrugs. “I just don't like it when men touch me without my permission. That's why I killed Bill. Simple as that.”

“Simple,” she parrots lifelessly.

Then she starts hitting a pregnant woman.

She thumps her over and over again in the chest, the arms, anywhere she can reach.

If anyone was around to see, they'd surely be calling the cops right about now.

Villanelle stops her pretty quickly though, grabs her arms between them. It's a bit awkward of a hold with her big belly in the way.

“It's not me that you're really angry with here,” informs Villanelle.

“I beg to differ!” she yells, doing her best to break free but Villanelle's grip is rock solid.

“We both know who you hate right now, Eve.” She looks her dead in the eyes. “And it's _not_ me.”

And damn her. Damn her to hell.

Eve sags against her, all the fight draining at once. It's not a hug. It's not tender. But it could be construed as such if anyone happened to be watching right now.

“Why are you even here?” she asks tiredly.

While she wouldn't put it passed her, Eve doesn't actually think Villanelle is here simply to mess with her. That was obviously a large part of it, but not the entire story.

“Kenny had some more information about The Twelve. He's just told me.”

“He could've called. _You_ could've called.”

“Your phone was off.”

And...that was true. Keiko can't stand people who stay on their phones all dinner. All evening.

“So what?” she grumbles. “What does this even have to do with me anymore? I helped you didn't I? Sold my soul to the devil...to save the devil.”

Does the devil ever smell good.

It's taking everything in her right now not to burrow into Villanelle's neck.

“Wow, you are very dramatic, Eve.”

She scoffs. “You're one to talk.”

There's a brief silence. “Don't you want to know more?”

“No.”

“You're not even the _slightest_ bit curious?”

And she can hear the teasing in Villanelle's voice. Eve has no interest in playing anymore of her games.

“No. I told you, I'm through with you. You got what you wanted. Now _leave_ me alone.”

“Fine, Eve. I'll leave you alone...for now.”

“No, for _good_ ,” she insists. “We're _done_. I don't want to see your face ever again. Especially not around _here_.”

Another lengthy pause, “Well, you may very well get your wish.”

“And what's _that_ supposed to mean?”

When Villanelle doesn't respond for several seconds, Eve begrudgingly pushes off of her to get a visual read. Except of course Villanelle is doing her default, undecipherable face right now, which is all the more unreadable in their current lack of sufficient light.

Villanelle is on the verge of replying when-

“Eve!” calls Keiko. “Eve, are you out here?”

Eve looks around the bush and over to Keiko, who is just visible by the sliding doors, and hesitates to answer. It's pointless though. She's obviously still somewhere around since her car is currently parked in the driveway.

She looks back to Villanelle...except she's evaporated into thin air.

Eve figures she must be the sneakiest pregnant lady to ever exist. Like a pregnant ninja. Like a hormonal pregnant ninja with poor impulse control, who is constantly eating and stealing all of your snacks in-between killing people.

The thought makes her snigger and she has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop herself from full on laughing.

Once she's mastered herself again, or well, contained her emotions to a reasonable level, she makes her presence known.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I was going to write this in French but then I remembered that I don't remember how to do that anymore...and google translate would probably be gibberish...and also I don't think Eve even understands French anyway. (I'm just going off her needing to speak English with Madame Tattevin). So basically this note was pointless. You're welcome.
> 
> Eve's a gay disaster. A functional alcoholic gay disaster. If you disagree, you're wrong.
> 
> Originally I was gonna have V ingratiate herself with Keiko, maybe even hold Ruri...but then I set it up the way I did and I was like, I feel like Keiko wouldn't actually take to her all that easily even if she was seemingly pregnant. So long story short, I kept the fake pregnancy anyway because I thought it was hilarious. (We'll say her inspiration was Inspector Mun :p)
> 
> And don't worry, I'm not writing a love triangle. I hate that shit. The only time it's acceptable is if it turns into a polyamorous relationship...but that's 100% not happening here. For obvious reasons I hope. :p


	9. Code Villanelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Independence Day, You Fucks!

 

_Well, you may very well get your wish._

The meaning of this statement has been nagging at her for days now, so she finally caves and calls Kenny up to ask him what he found out about The Twelve.

“Didn't she tell you?” he says, clearly a bit surprised.

“I didn't exactly let her,” she admits, feeling ever so slightly guilty.

“Oh.”

And the way he says that sends a signal of dread straight to her stomach, unsettling her nerves further.

“Kenny, what is it?” she asks again, doing her best to remain calm. “What did you find out?”

“Powell's back in town.”

“Okay...”

“He's hosting a gala at his Yorkshire estate.”

“Okay...”

“I took a look at the attendees and did some digging. Went very deep and found out that-”

“The Twelve are going to be there.”

“The Twelve are going to be there,” he confirms.

“Well, when is this thing?” she asks.

“Eve, it's today.”

“What?” she snaps, getting even more antsy. She begins pacing around the bathroom at work. Thankfully it's free of anyone else at the moment, but that could change very quickly.

“It starts at eight o'clock tonight.”

That was less than six hours from now and it was a four hour drive at best.

“Where exactly is this estate, Kenny?”

A beat, “Why do you want to know?”

“If this is public knowledge I can just look it up myself.”

Kenny sighs. “It's just North of York, you can't miss it...but you won't be able to get in, Eve. There's a very strict attendee roster. If you're not on the list-”

“Put me on the list then.”

“What.”

“That's what you did for her, isn't it?”

Eve is convinced of the fact. It's what she'd do if she were trying to infiltrate a place like that _and_ have free reign.

“Eve.”

“Kenny.”

“This is going to be very dangerous, Eve. Tons of security and-”

“I don't care,” she interrupts. And she really doesn't. She's feeling like being stupid and reckless again, like when she went to Paris and smashed all of those champagne bottles.

“Well, _I_ do.”

“What?”

There's a brief hesitation as if expressing feelings is foreign to him. “I care about you, Eve. You're like my big sister. I'm not going to let you do this.”

The tenderness of the statement is enough to give her pause. But only for a moment. Her brain is one track city right now, like she's a junkie in need of a fix, or a vampire in desperate need of blood.

_Villanelle...Villanelle...Villanelle..._

“I'll find another way in then,” she declares defiantly.

He sighs again, and she knows he's about to break, like always. “Why does it matter so much to you if you're there?”

She looks directly into the mirror, undoes her hair. “Because if anyone is going to kill her, it's gonna be me.” *

 

*

Oksana's busy putting the finishing touches of her outfit together when there's a knock on her hotel door. She picks up a knife and holds it behind her back as she goes to see who's there.

For a moment she blinks in surprise through the peephole, then drops the knife on the ground, behind where the door will open. The point is sticking nicely into the carpet.

“Eve,” she greets.

Eve barrels in right passed her.

“I can't believe you were going to go off and do something so... _stupid_ and...and _reckless_ without even telling me?!”

Oksana quirks a brow, closes the door. “Well, I did try-”

Eve whirls around on her. “If you think I'm gonna let you do this yourself, you've got another thing coming!”

Oksana scoffs incredulously. “Eve, you're not coming with me.”

“Of course I am!”

She rolls her eyes. “What are you going to do? _Charm_ them all to death?”

“Maybe!”

Oksana laughs. “Yes, I can see it now. You will recite quaint little anecdotes about your life and they will die of sheer boredom. Or better yet, blow their _own_ brains out just to get away from you.”

“Don't be a dick,” points Eve.

“According to you, that's all I ever am,” she shrugs. “No point stopping now.” She smirks. “In fact, I think that's what you like about me so much.”

“I _don't_ like you.”

“Then why are you here, Eve?”

Eve doesn't respond...except to get a bit awkward, glancing away.

Oksana takes the opportunity to step in closer. “You know...you're supposed to _kiss_ the hero before they go off to war. That's how the movies go.”

Eve jumps a little like she's been faintly electrocuted.

“You're not a hero, Oksana. And this isn't a movie. This is real life.” She gulps. “You're probably going to die.”

“Probably,” she agrees nonchalantly. “Which is _exactly_ why you should kiss me before I go. I know you will regret it if you don't. Unless of course you're into necrophilia, Eve.”

And it takes her a second to get it and then, “Piss off,” says Eve, shoving her lightly.

Oksana laughs. “Well, I should get going.” She closes her eyes and puckers up comically. “Last chance, Eve. Going once...going twice...going-”

Eve grabs her by the back of the neck and kisses her hard.

Oksana looks at her stunned. “Wow, I didn't think you'd actually do it.”

“I'm just full of surprises.”

“So I keep forgetting.” She gives Eve a heated look. “When I get back, we're going to continue this, yes?”

“When you get back,” agrees Eve, nodding.

Oksana smirks, kisses her once more, this time softly, and then heads out the door.

“How rude,” grumbles Oksana, snapping out of it.

She's getting very tired of having these fantasies about Eve. For one thing they're very tame, which was lame. And for another, she doesn't want to like Eve anymore. It's annoying. 

And anyway, Eve was never going to forgive her for Bill. So even if she did conceivably want something to happen there, which she didn't, but _hypothetically_ if she did, it didn't matter. She couldn't force Eve to like her.

Well that wasn't entirely true. 

She _could've_ manipulated her. She _could've_ lied. Told Eve things she wanted to hear...but for some reason Oksana couldn't do it. Just like she couldn't kill her. 

At the time she thought she had told the truth because she wanted Eve to hate her, just to make sure neither one of them was tempted...but now she's not so sure. It was almost as if she were scared. Scared to let herself really fall for her again. Scared of being rejected. Betrayed. But that was ludicrous right? She doesn't get scared. She's not capable of such a weak emotion. She's made of strong stuff. She has to be. 

There's no way she's going to survive tonight if she's not.

 

*

 

Predictably, she gets stuck in rush hour traffic. Every goddamn time she gets on the M1 this happens. They've barely covered a kilometre in the last five minutes. At this rate, she's never going to get there on time.

Eve's really regretting not flying there right about now. It would've been the smart thing to do instead of leaving work early, incurring Keiko's wrath yet again. And...let's just say, things had been _very_ awkward in that department after their ill fated evening.

Then again there was nothing smart about this. What was she even doing? What was she hoping to accomplish? It's not like she can actually _help_ Villanelle slaughter all of those people. She couldn't, wouldn't do that. She couldn't even help her kill that one poor girl. She doesn't even have a gun anymore.

So why was she going then?

She thinks maybe she knows why.

She thinks maybe she's _always_ known why.

She's in love with Oksana.

That's why she hates her so much.

Or rather, that's why it was so hard to tell.

After all, love and hate were just two sides of the same proverbial coin.

And with that thought in mind, she mutters, ' _fuck it_ ', and maneuvers over to the side of the highway and lets her rip.

 

*

 

She's spent the last two days scouting out the estate, making note of the guard patrol. There were deceptively few of them outdoors. Which meant there would be a lot more within. Especially once all of the guests arrive.

Of course, she's hoping to be one of those guests and just stroll right in the front door. But as she's well aware of by now, things rarely go as planned, and it was better to be safe than sorry and have a backup plan on the go.

Well, there was nothing _safe_ about this. The odds were decidedly against her. This would be the largest scale operation she's ever undertaken. With multiple targets, threats, and many moving pieces to keep track of. 

And while she may still have the element of surprise on her side, that would only hold out for so long. Eventually they're going to notice that their guests are disappearing.

And when they do...well, that's when the _real_ fun starts.

 

*

 

Things are going surprisingly well for her. She's made considerable progress and is almost through the worst of the traffic, and she thinks she is home free.

So of course that's when the sirens blare.

“Shit!” she exclaims, checking her rear view mirror. A motorcycle cop is now tailing her on the side of the highway, gesturing for her to pull over...or well, stop.

Part of her thinks she can maybe outrun him. Just keep going and he'll eventually give up.

The other sane part knows that isn't a feasible option.

Eve eases to a stop and prepares for the altercation. She's been pulled over for speeding before so she knows the drill.

The constable makes his way over to her, his ticket book already open.

Sunlight gleams off his helmet, partially blinds her. 

She's already lowered her window and gotten her documents ready. Anything to speed this process along. Even the slowest of the traffic is passing her by now.

“License and registration,” he says.

She hands them over and he does a quick perusal of her face for comparison. Once he's satisfied, he gives them back to her.

“Ms. Yang,” he says, sounding bored, “are you aware that it's illegal to drive on the side of the highway? That this space is reserved for emergency stops, and emergency vehicles only?”

“Yes, constable. I'm sorry for breaking the law. It won't happen again.”

He looks at her for an elongated beat. “See that it doesn't.” 

He writes her a ticket and hands it to her. She tries to take it but he doesn't let go. 

“Say, do I know you from somewhere? You look awfully familiar.”

“I don't think so,” she says tugging on it discreetly. “Well, I should probably get off of-”

“You were the woman at the crime scene last week.”

Seriously? How bad is her luck?

Eve freezes in place. “You must be mistaken,” she says, once more trying to get her ticket and be on her way.

“No, I'm sure of it now. Your hair is very...distinctive.”

God, why was everyone obsessed with her hair?

“I really do need to be on my-”

“My Inspector wants a word with you.”

“I don't see that that's nec-”

He yanks the ticket away from her. “Step out of the vehicle ma'am.”

“No, I don't think I will,” she says obstinately, her heart hammering at this sudden boldness. This sudden defiance. “You're not allowed to question me about that anymore. You even bringing it up right now is grounds for dismissal.”

“I don't think-”

And now she's putting him on the ropes. She holds up her phone. “All I have to do is make one call. Just _one_ call and you'll never work in this city again.”

She doesn't know where this bullshit is coming from, but she's going to keep rolling with it until he finally lets up and lets her go. She _has_ to make it in time. She just _has_ to.

“You can't expect me to bel-”

“I'm dialing,” she says, punching in a random series of numbers. 

He's still unmoved, although his fingers look like they're itching to snatch the phone away from her. She makes sure to keep it out of reach by holding it to her left ear.

“It's ringing,” she informs him calmly. She gives him a dark look. “Once this goes through, _you're_ through.”

And as luck would have it, an actual person answers straight away. And that's where her luck ends. A very sensual person says, “Ruby speaking. How do you want it, baby?”

She's rather taken aback by accidentally calling a sex hotline, but she has to pretend as if everything is just business as usual.

“Hi, Ruby,” she smiles. “It's me. Eve.”

“Oooh. Eve. I love that name, baby. Very biblical. Very sexy.”

“Is she busy?”

“She's not busy _yet_. But she can be very busy very soon, baby.”

And Eve has no idea what she's talking about.

“It's just...I've been pulled over by this twat cop and...yeah I know, what a pain.”

“You like pain, baby? I can give you that. I can give you _so_ much pain, you'll be _begging_ me to stop. Where do you want me to start, Eve?”

“Well, you're not going to believe this but he was asking about _Code Villanelle..._ I know, totally unprofessional, right? People these days just have no regard for the rules.”

“Rules are meant to be broken, baby. You can do whatever you want to me. Or _I_ can do whatever you want to _you_. Just let me know where you want to start.”

And it's beginning to sound like the lady is starting to get frustrated with her. Eve has to hand it to Ruby...she's doing a very good job of keeping this thing going. She wonders if this is up there with the strangest non-conversation Ruby has ever had. Probably not.

“She _is_ busy? Well, can you give her this message then?”

“Look lady,” comes the irritated voice, “if you're not going to participate then just hang up the phone. I've got lots of other clients who are dying to take me on.”

And that was her cue to tie things up.

“Right, his name is Constable Hard-” 

“Okay, okay! Forget I said anything!” he hisses. “Just...hang up the phone!”

“You're lucky I'm in a good mood,” she says, ending the call and sparing the very confused and annoy ed erotica employee further trauma. Or well, maybe _trauma_ was the wrong word. This was probably about the tamest conversation Ruby's ever had.

She glances to the ticket still in his hand. “Feeling merciful.”

He takes note of this and promptly tears it up. “Have a good day, Ms. Yang!” he says and then hightails it back to his motorcycle.

She sits there gripping the steering wheel tightly for several moments, composing herself. 

“Holy shit, I can't believe that worked,” she says quietly, awed with her own brilliance. She snorts. “What an idiot.”

Then she grins and puts the pedal to the medal again...right back into the traffic.

 

*

 

Normally she goes in through the back entrance, as a caterer or a waitress. 

Or sometimes she scales the buildings and infiltrates that way.

She's never just walked in the front door before.

And she's never dressed as a man for one of her kills before.

Well, that wasn't strictly true. There was the one time when she needed to gain access to an all boys club. But that hardly counted. It was a trifling affair over before it began. Hardly worth the effort of gluing on the facial hair.

She would've preferred to go as herself, to wear a sexy dress, but there was nothing for it. She _has_ to wear a suit, or rather, a tuxedo for this soiree. It would've been nice to wear something more colourful, but she doesn't want to stand out in the crowd. The only pop of colour she is allowed is her crimson red pocket square.

Even if they _think_ she's dead and aren't expecting her, it doesn't rule out the possibility that someone might recognize her if she doesn't disguise herself a bit. So she's got a black bushy beard and handlebar moustache currently in place, thicker eyebrows to match the beard, and her hair tucked into a short black wig that's messy but attractive at the same time. She's even got those fancy white gloves on, the ones that high society types always wore in the old movies.

As she stands in line waiting for admittance, Oksana thinks of calling Eve.

If she really is about to go down in a blaze of glory, she thinks maybe she should say goodbye. Eve _did_ help her out of a tight scrape. She didn't have to. And honestly, Oksana's still not sure why she even showed up in Bletcham in the first place. It had been a long shot at best. But like clockwork, there she was.

Eve had even followed her around for nearly two months after she had healed following the...incident. Oksana had been aware of her presence the entire time, had willed her to go away. Purposefully fucked with her stuff on more than one occasion to get Eve to take the hint. But it only ever seemed to make Eve more determined to make contact. Eventually Oksana got so annoyed of her unwanted presence that she decided to kill her. 

And she hadn't been lying before. She really _had_ been moments away from doing it. The knife had been poised and ready to strike. All she had to do was step out of the shadows and do it. But then Eve had started sobbing, right there in the street, and it had drawn the attention of some compassionate passerby who stopped to ask her what was wrong. Of course, they had been in Romania at the time, and Eve hadn't understood a word the old lady was saying.

But Oksana had.

_'What is the matter, my child? Why do you cry so?'_

_ 'I don't know what to do,' said Eve. 'I don't know what to do.' _

_ 'I know of only two things that make a woman cry like this,' she tsked. 'The death of a loved one or the pain of unreciprocated love. Which is it for you, my dear?' _

_ 'It's just...I can't keep doing this. I need to stop. I know she doesn't want me to keep looking for her. But I just wanted to tell her that I'm sorry. That I regretted it as soon as I did it. That I wish I could take it back....I just want...I just want...hell, I don't even know anymore. I'm just tired, that's what. Exhausted in my soul. And I just wonder if she'll ever forgive me, or if she's gonna hate me for the rest of my life. And God, I don't think I could live with that. She's just...captivated me, you know? It's hard to really put into words what I feel when I'm near her. I've never met anyone else like her. She's special. So special. And I went and fucked it all up. Like I do with everything. Because I'm a fuck up. That's why. A fucking fuck up.' _

And even the grandma had understood this English word and proceeded to chastise Eve for her bad language. But Eve had rambled on for some time heedless of this, getting cruder and cruder, and the grandma had taken greater and greater offense, till she actually slapped Eve, and the whole thing had greatly amused Oksana. And she had decided not to kill Eve because she realized then that she could have some fun with her yet. If there was another reason as well, Oksana would be the last to admit it.

The recollection makes her smirk and she goes to take out her phone, but then stops because she's finally made it to the front of the line. 

Instead, she retrieves her ticket.

They scan it and say, “Welcome, Mr. Bogdanow.”

“Danke,” she replies as deeply as she can. 

She flashes a smile and takes her ticket back, then steps through the metal detector. 

When she is finally in the all clear, she enters the Dragon's Den.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Cue N'Sync song
> 
> To be fair, this particular day dream sequence was originally supposed to be real...way back when I first started the fic. But admit it, y'all like the fact that I keep messing with you. Being a dick. ;)
> 
> The estate is based off of Castle Howard.
> 
> As you can clearly tell, I definitely have a lot of experience calling erotic hotlines :P (Though, I'm pretty sure you have to give them your credit card info or something first lol).
> 
> What V thinks: I don't want to stand out...so I'll wear a regular old black and white tux.  
> What V does: Puts on a handlebar mustache, bushy beard and eyebrows, and crazy hair.
> 
> You know, early on I thought I might try to do a twist in which V reveals that NONE of this is real. That the Twelve are already dead. That she faked the entire crisis just to see how Eve would react. To see if she'd help her. And how far she'd go. To decide if she wanted to kill her or not. But like, there are a number of reasons why that wouldn't have made sense (mostly Anastasia related), so I didn't do that. And besides which, spy thriller things ALWAYS do shit like that so it's pretty much expected at this point. 
> 
> Anyway, this is now the third sense8 reference I've made so that's pretty amusing to me.


	10. In the Belly of the Beast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this is such a cliché but I couldn't help myself.

The great hall entrance is fairly impressive, but not the most impressive entrance Oksana has ever seen. Still, her eyes trail from the black and white diamond tiled flooring, to the marble statues and busts of long since dead people, to the square columns, to the first balcony under an arch adorned with rose carvings, to the chipped and fading mural of four Renaissance woman, to the topmost circular balcony with windows all around, and finally, to the last mural set in the clouds.

Despite there being quite a few people mingling in this somewhat narrow cavity here, Oksana is almost immediately hailed by some man. Which makes zero sense since no one should know who she is. Her metaphorical hackles raise and she wonders if she's just walked into a trap. If this entire gala was a very elaborate way to get _her_ out in the open. So The Twelve can take _her_ out finally, and not the other way around.

She's suddenly feeling very naked. The only sharp edged things she has on her person currently are her cuff links. These she fingers absentmindedly as she debates whether or not to ignore this person and head further in instead. They are being very insistent though, waving and calling, and others are taking notice, and if she doesn't go over now, it will be very suspicious, and draw even _more_ unwanted attention on herself.

Not seeing a better option, Oksana heads over to the oversized, inactive fireplace. When she gets closer, to observe the small circle of people animatedly chatting, she freezes.

There's a beautiful pregnant woman dressed in an elegant black full bodied gown, that sits off the shoulders and gives the merest of cleavage hints. Her brown hair is straight and cut off just before the top of the dress. She's got on square, purple rimmed glasses. Silver chandelier type earrings hang just below. Her lips are painted a slightly darker hue than usual...and her tits are definitely larger. More prominent. More eye-catching.

Oksana just stares at Eve for so long, that Eve smiles brightly and says, “There you are, darling. I wasn't sure if you'd make it after all.”

When Oksana still doesn't respond, Eve readjusts her purple bedazzled clutch, places a hand to her lower back, the other under her enormous belly, and waddles over like she really is extremely pregnant. About to burst at any moment.

Eve takes Oksana by the hand and leads her into the circle of champagne holding people. Eve then wraps an arm around Oksana's waist, and places a hand to Oksana's chest, curling into her side. Automatically, Oksana follows suit, draping her own arm across Eve's hip, as if they did this all of the time.

Oksana would be lying if she said she was disliking this current proximity.

She's been so confused and taken with Eve's appearance (minus the hair) that she's only just now noticed the giant diamond engagement ring on Eve's hand. Like stupidly large. Like the kind of large that Oksana could use as a literal weapon to blind or even maim.

She figures it must be fake. Either that or Eve recently robbed a bank. Or mugged a rich old lady.

“He's been having some tummy issues lately, poor thing.”

Oksana has no idea what the hell kind of accent Eve is putting on right now. If it's supposed to be British or German or some kind of mix, or something else entirely. It's probably a good thing it's so noisy in here, buzzing with activity.

“Isn't that right, dear?” says Eve, squeezing her side.

Oksana nods. Rubs her tummy. “Bad stomach, yes,” she grunts.

The clean shaven, fairly handsome middle aged man who had waved her over, says, “Then I suggest you stay away from Sir Jorah. His poetry alone is enough to turn even the most iron clad of stomachs.”

Everyone starts roaring with laughter, even Eve.

“In all seriousness,” continues the man, when they've quieted down, “I must congratulate you on your wife, Mr. Bogdanow...she is an extremely charming creature.” He takes Eve's ring hand and kisses it, and Oksana unconsciously scowls and clenches her fist. “In fact, I might have to steal her away from you.”

Everyone laughs again.

“Oh, don't think he likes the sounds of that too much!” exclaims the fat man. “He looks positively murderous! Better watch out now, Archie!”

More laughter.

A server comes by with a plate of hors d'oeuvre and Oksana takes a few and shoves them in her mouth to stop herself from saying or doing something naughty. She thinks it's some sort of salmon thing but she's not sure, nor does she care.

“Well, he certainly doesn't say much does he?” says the only other woman here, who is rather plain looking even with too much makeup on.

“But he can certainly eat,” says the fat man, as if he is one to talk. “Look at the devil go!”

“No wonder he has tummy issues,” says the tall man with the bad teeth. “Never stops shoveling it in!”

“Reminds me of a lascivious sheepdog I had once as a boy!” exclaims Archie. “He would hump you as soon as look at you!”

Everyone cracks up again, like they've just told the funniest jokes ever.

And what the hell, were they all drunk already or were they all just assholes?

Eve pats her cheek. “Oh, he's just shy. He's not so good with crowds...or strangers. Don't be surprised if he suddenly takes off several times tonight to get some peace and quiet.”

And...hmm. That was actually a pretty good excuse for her if she was planning on dodging out repeatedly for the killings. Then again, this excuse is only necessary because of Eve's presence in the first place. No one would have even taken any note of Oksana if it weren't for her.

“So,” says the plain woman, “any thoughts on the name?”

Oksana has no idea what she's talking about until Eve takes her hand off Oksana's chest and lowers it to her fake belly.

“Well, we were thinking maybe Charlie, after my grandfather,” says Eve. “Or perhaps Mathias after Wolfie's.”

Wolfie? Seriously? Her ticket said Wolfgang.

Her grip tightens slightly on Eve's hip, but all this accomplishes is Eve smiling even more.

Well, then, if Eve was going to mess with her. Oksana was going to mess right back. Only fair.

“Actually, _pumpkin_ ,” says Oksana, pinching her cheek, “I was thinking we'd go a different direction altogether.”

“Oh?” says Eve looking up at her. “And what would that be, _honey buns_?”

“I like the sounds of Niko. Or...Bill. Like from _Kill Bill_. You know I'm a big fan of those movies.”

Eve's fingers dig into her waist. “I thought we already discussed this?” says Eve, still keeping her composure. “We decided to let sleeping dogs lie.”

And what was that supposed to mean?

Apparently the woman thinks there's about to be a fight because she hurriedly says, “Well, in any case, whatever you choose, I'm sure you'll take very good care of him.”

“Yes, I'm sure you're right,” says Eve, smiling at the woman. “Wolfie here,” she pats her chest, “will be the most loving and caring father a wife could ever hope for.”

Oksana was tired of this charade so she takes Eve's hand and says, “Not feeling so good. See you.”

“Why the devil did he need his wife for _that_?” she hears as they get out of there.

“People are into all _sorts_ of things these days, didn't you know?”

They get to the bathroom, a private one, but big enough to be a public one with at least three stalls worth of space. It's ostentatious just like every other aspect of the estate so far. Too much as far as Oksana's concerned.

Oksana politely drags Eve in and nearly slams the door behind them.

“What the hell are you doing here, Eve?!” she demands, whirling on her.

Eve is calm. “Don't you think it would've been suspicious if you'd shown up alone to something like this...skulking around on your own?”

“No. Men do it all the time. Only pathetic when a women shows up alone.”

“Do you really believe that?” says Eve, apparently taking a bit of an affront to this comment because that's exactly what she had done. And she was 'pregnant' so it was doubly pathetic.

“Eve, you're talking to someone who spends most of their time alone.”

And Eve looks at her with pity. She was just stating facts. That's all.

“My name's not Eve, it's Riley.”

“And my name is Wolf _gang_. Not Wolf _ie_.”

Eve smiles pleasantly. “Well too bad, it's what I'm going to keep calling you.”

“Well, then, your name is...it's...”

And she can't think of a short form for Riley that's embarrassing.

So instead she insults her accent.

“What is that dumb accent you are doing anyway? If you were trying to blend in, you're doing a _terrible_ job.”

“Like you're one to talk.” Eve gestures to her face. “Hardly understated.”

“It's called being eccentric...obscenely rich people are eccentric,” she defends. “It would be stranger _not_ to look like this.” She gestures to the belly. “Did you _really_ need to be pregnant?”

“Did _you_?”

“Is _that_ why you're here? Payback for ruining your night?”

“You know, I thought it was highly coincidental that you knocked right when you did.”

“What's _that_ supposed to mean?”

Eve smirks. “You weren't the slightest bit jealous?”

“I _wasn't_ jealous.”

The smirk gets bigger. “I think you were.”

“I wasn't.”

“If you say so.”

“I wasn't!” she half screams throwing up her hands.

And what the hell? They are even bickering like a married couple now.

Oksana practically growls. “Eve, you need to go now.”

Eve crosses her arms, gives her a defiant look. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“There are a lot of very bad men here.”

“So?”

“Things are going to get messy.”

“Still not seeing the problem here. You threw me under the bus with the surprise murder. That was pretty damn messy.”

“That was completely different! I had everything under control then! You weren't in danger!”

She grits her teeth at that. She didn't mean to say that.

“And that matters to you?” says Eve, uncrossing her arms, searching her face. “Whether I'm in danger or not?”

Oksana ignores the question. “You're going to get in my way. You already have. And what are you trying to prove anyway? That you're not scared of dying? That you're not scared of _me_?”

“I think I proved that a long time ago in Bletcham.”

She snorts. “Please, you were shitting yourself the entire time.”

“What about the stunt with the gun? Or the choking? What was _that_ all about?”

“What?” she says sharply.

“I'll tell you what it was about. You wanted to see what my reaction would be. You wanted to see if I cared whether you lived or died.”

“No, I was just messing with you,” she objects immediately, doing her best to cover up the fact that Eve is dead right. She doesn't like where this conversation is heading.

“No, you weren't. Everything you do has a reason, Oksana. Sure most of it is for your own amusement ...but there's always another underlying reason too.”

Oksana sizes her up for a moment and then says, “So then...what's my reason for doing this?”

She grabs Eve by the throat and shoves her against the door none too gently.

Eve seems unfazed which is annoying.

“To assert your dominance. To intimidate me.”

“What else?”

“To be close to me. To touch me.”

“No.”

“Then why is your other hand stroking my side?”

And...she looks down and she sees that Eve is right. She hadn't even noticed she was doing that. It pisses her off that she can't seem to fully control herself around Eve...so she punches the door beside her head.

But Eve doesn't even flinch, like she had been expecting it. And she hates being predictable. She can't stand it. She wants to squeeze the life out of her right then...but now she's second guessing herself...like maybe that's what Eve _expects_ her to do...to get even _more_ violent...

So she just lets go and steps back and they stand there staring at one another.

And then Eve suddenly lunges at her.

Oksana reacts on instinct, maneuvers out of the way of the perceived threat, spins her around and rams her into the door face first...or rather belly first. Then she yanks Eve's arm behind her back...pulling...pulling....and-

“Ow, ow!” yells Eve, rapidly pounding on the door with her other hand. “You're gonna break my arm! Stop!!”

“Did you really think you could get the drop on me, Eve?” she asks amused. “How cute.”

“What the _hell_ are you talking about?!”

“You just attacked me.”

“I _wasn't_ attacking you!”

“Well, then...why did you do that?” she says, in extreme confusion.

“I was trying to _kiss_ you okay!” exclaims Eve.

“You were trying to...kiss me?” she parrots.

“Yes! Now would you _let_ go?!” screams Eve, banging on the door some more. “You're seriously gonna break it!”

She lets go and after a few seconds, Eve turns around to face her. Her right cheek is a bit red and squashed. Her belly slightly askew. She rubs at her shoulder, glaring at Oksana all the while.

She doesn't feel guilty. She's just very confused. She thought Eve hated her. She was counting on it.

It seems almost like they're both a bit stunned now and unsure of how to proceed.

Oksana decides to take the reigns. End this before...before something _else_ happens.

“I can't believe you thought _I'd_ want to kiss _you_ ,” she sneers. “You stabbed me, remember?” She points towards the door. “Just _go_ , Eve. You can't help me. I don't _want_ your help.”

Oksana's a little surprised (but mostly annoyed) that Eve doesn't seem particularly upset about this rejection. Eve seems bound and determined to do...something. And that's making her uneasy.

“Admit it. You care about me. That's why you want me to leave.”

“I _don't_ care about you,” she snaps. “I don't even _like_ you.”

“So if I took off this wig and this belly and walked out there right now, you would let me?”

“No.” Eve starts to smile so Oksana clarifies. “I can't let you do that without blowing my own cover.”

Eve seems slightly crestfallen but only for a moment. “Is that really all you care about? Yourself?”

“Yes.”

“So...what? After you do this...after you've killed them all? Then what?”

“What do you mean?”

“What's next for Oksana?”

“I still don't-”

“Your employers will all be dead. Your... _fun_ job dead with it. Come _on_ , you must have thought about this.”

She gets up in Eve's face, hands flat against the door on either side of her head. “It's none of your _concern_ what I may or may not do after this!”

Eve looks at her wide eyed. “You really don't know, do you? You think you're going to die here, don't you?” Eve seems to be getting slightly teary eyed. “You _want_ to die here.”

Oksana just looks at her and then laughs, pushes off the door. “Don't be ridiculous! I love my life! I love living!”

Eve was crazy, she had no idea what she was talking about.

“You _loved_ your life. But everything's changed now. It can never go back to being the way it was.”

“There is _always_ a market for this kind of thing,” she says, as if she is trying to convince herself. “I will just find someone else to pay me.”

“Not if they catch wind that you killed everyone here tonight.”

Oksana doesn't respond other than to frown.

“You're...scared. You're scared that this is it for you. That you'll have nothing worth living for after you do this.” Eve sobs ever so slightly. “That's why you want to die here.”

“You are so dramatic, Eve,” she scoffs. “How many more times do I have to say that you are _wrong_ before you will believe it?”

Eve hesitates a moment and then takes her hand, “I asked you once to come with me. Just the two of us. Come with me now, Oksana. Let's just go. They think you're dead. They won't bother you again. We can go wherever you want. _Do_ whatever you want. See a movie. See a _hundred_ movies. Just...come with me. _Please_.”

She thinks she's doing a pretty good job of remaining unaffected by what Eve is offering...but then she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and sees that she's just as teary-eyed as Eve is. And that's infuriating to her. She's not some sappy chump. She's not a slave to her emotions. She can do whatever she wants. Kill whoever she wants. And she wants to kill The Twelve. She's going to do it. No matter what Eve says or thinks. It's _going_ to happen. And if Eve won't get out of her way... she'll just have to _make_ her.

Oksana pulls her hand away, a dark expression across her face, she reaches up and-

There's a polite knock on the bathroom door.

“Hello, are you all right in there, Mr. Bogdanow...Mrs. Bogdanow?”

Archie.

“You've been in there for _quite_ some time. We're all starting to get worried.”

“Not the least of which because of all of the... _banging_ ,” adds the fat man.

There's some sniggering.

And seriously? Are they twelve?

She looks to Eve who is now crying. Like she is actually pregnant and can't control herself. Oksana is very annoyed. She wants to slap some sense into her like the grandma did back in Romania.

Instead she grits her teeth, fixes Eve's belly and wig, and wipes away the tears. If she does this more gently than she had intended, she would be the last to admit it.

“Pull yourself together,” she hisses. Then she morphs into a smiling facade, takes Eve by the arm and opens the door.

“Feeling much better now,” she says, with a wink to the stupid men.

They share knowing looks, and then Archie takes one look at Eve and says, “Dear God, what's the matter, Riley?”

She glances to Eve who is crying again. Internally she screams.

“Oh, she always gets like this after we have sex,” says Oksana bluntly. “Especially now that she's so hormonal. You know how it is,” she shrugs.

If she didn't know any better, she'd say that Archie looks a little jealous.

“Well, come on then,” he says, “our host is about to make a speech. Best not keep him waiting.”

“The last guy who did that ended up taking a permanent vacation.”

They laugh again, then lead the way.

“What did I _just_ say?” she mutters under her breath.

“I'm trying, I'm trying,” murmurs Eve. “Not _everyone_ can stop crying on demand.”

“I swear, Eve, when this is all over-”

“You're gonna kill me?”

“Maybe!”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

“What, you don't think I can do it?”

Anna hadn't thought she could either, and look how that ended. True, she hadn't actually pulled the trigger, but she was _going_ to...probably. Maybe.

Not that Anna and Eve were even in the same classification at _all_. She had been in love with Anna, together for years. She wasn't in love with Eve. Therefore it would be very easy for her to do it. All she'd have to do is think about the time Eve stabbed her and then she'd be able to do it. She was sure of it. And now that the idea was in her head, she planned on it. Looked forward to it even.

But first they needed to survive this bloodbath of a soiree.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sure, V, we all believe you. *rolls eyes*
> 
> I legit did think about V actually just going off with Eve and ending it there. Haha.
> 
> And look...I really did want them to kiss in the bathroom...but it just didn't work out that way, okay? A lot of it had to do with me not being able to take V seriously with the crazy facial hair. xD
> 
> It absolutely 100% WILL happen before the end of this fic. I promise.
> 
> And seriously, they need to get laid. So much anger and angst. Jesus. Thank goodness for the twelve year old boys to lighten the mood. :p (and I just realized that I used 12 for their age...I wonder why)


	11. Ladies and Gentle Men?

 

Out back of the estate is a huge expanse of greenery. Well kept hedges encompass the space up until they hit the two parallel dirt roads on either side. There appears to be gardened pathways beyond the roads, but it's hard to tell for certain. The giant fountain smack dab in the middle of the monstrous backyard is impossible to miss, its jets going full blast out of the statue, which is a rendition of Atlas holding up the world.

Eve doubts this is how Powell sees himself, the man burdened with the woes of the planet. He's too much of a megalomaniac for that. More likely he thinks of it as an ode to his less than savoury enterprises that have allowed him to take a considerable piece of the pie.

Powell stands on a raised platform in front of the fountain, a purple cloak draped over his shoulders, as if he thinks he is some sort of esteemed nobility and not a second rate television host and all around criminal.

Having been delayed in the bathroom, Eve and Villanelle end up stopping near the edge of the considerable pack. All told there must be around two hundred people here. It's going to be difficult to pinpoint the other eleven members. She's not sure how Villanelle is going to go about doing this, but she notices her looking off to the sides of the gathering, at the silent, half shrouded sentries. Eve supposes these guards will be Villanelle's biggest threat. Everyone else present _should_ be unarmed.

Powell raises his hands and the general hub bub dies down.

“Welcome, friends!” he says into a wireless microphone. “I am honoured and humbled by your presence! As you are all well aware, tonight is a very auspicious occasion! It has been a long time coming, but we have finally done it! We have bypassed the moats and painstakingly laid siege to the castles, killed the final defenders and secured the crowns! Europe is in our capable hands, the rest of the world soon to follow! We will rule and blah blah blah”

It takes Eve a second to realize that Villanelle is the one who just said that. She glances over to find Villanelle rolling her eyes. “ _Someone_ loves the sound of their own voice.” She looks at Eve. “Is he _always_ like this?”

“On his TV shows?” Villanelle nods. “Pretty much.”

“I am going to enjoy killing him the most I think,” says Villanelle rolling her eyes once more.

“I would hold off on him until the end. He's kind of the most visible figure here.”

Villanelle rolls her eyes for yet a third time. “Yes, _thank_ you, Eve. I _never_ would have thought this had you not been here. I'm _so_ glad you were here to stop me from going up there right now and strangling him to death in front of the _two hundred_ eye witnesses.”

Eve huffs. “You don't have to be a dick about it.”

“According to you, that's all I ever am. No point stopping now.” And then Villanelle scowls for some unknown reason.

“They need no introduction!” says Powell, drawing her attention back to the makeshift stage. “A round of applause for my brothers in arms!”

Then in single file a group of eleven men also with purple cloaks on take centre stage, six on one side of Powell, five on the other. It's a bit hard to tell from back here, but they all appear to be wearing identical gold chains around their necks, and this time they're all fully visible....though she _still_ can't make out the damn symbol.

She can feel Villanelle's smug smile before she even looks.

“Are you going to tell me how you knew, now?”

“No,” says Villanelle sweetly. She pouts. “Like fish in a barrel.”

Eve figures Villanelle wishes she had a gun right about now. It would've saved everyone a lot of time and effort.

The twelve men then all take an elongated bow, a few of their hoods falling over their heads.

There's a lot of cheering and then Powell gesturing for everyone to calm down. “The itinerary for tonight is simple! Eat, drink, and be merry! And if you happen to sleep with your best friends wife, so be it!”

More cheering and raucous laughter.

“What a dickswab,” she mutters, and then notices that Archie is looking in her direction.

He winks at her once, then turns back around.

She realizes that Villanelle has tightened her grip on her arm and is now clenching her jaw again, like when Archie kissed her hand. Eve wonders if Villanelle is aware of her reactions to other people flirting with her. She's convinced that Villanelle _does_ in fact still like her, but is just refusing to acknowledge this because of all of their bad blood.

So Eve's plan is simple. Keep applying pressure to the dam until it finally bursts.

The crowd is dispersing, going off in different directions.

Archie almost immediately approaches her...or well, _them,_ except he's only looking at her as he speaks. “Tell, me, Mr and Mrs. Bogdanow, have you ever toured the grounds here?”

“I'm afraid not,” she replies.

“Oh, well in that case, you simply must allow me to give you the grand tour before full dark hits.”

“We'd love that, wouldn't we, _pumpkin_?” she says.

Villanelle smiles. “Why of course, _muffin_.”

“Splendid,” says Archie, leading them. They make their way off to the far side on the right here, away from the crowd, and the cloaked men, and into a pleasant arched corridor made of vegetation. As they traverse this, Archie begins expounding about the history of the place, the noble lineage that once resided here until Powell made them an offer he couldn't refuse. Eve wasn't sure if this was an allusion to more criminal activity or if he was just another middle aged man obsessed with The Godfather.

About ten minutes into this, she notices two cloaked figures in an offshoot of this straight and narrow pathway. Without further ado, Villanelle slinks off to stalk her prey.

It's a few seconds later before Archie takes not of her absence. “Tummy troubles, _again_?” he jokes.

“Something like that,” she says as Villanelle disappears from her periphery.

This is _so_ not how this was supposed to go.

“Poor fellow.”

As soon as they are alone, Archie offers his arm, and she feels obliged to take it.

They walk in silence for a bit and then, “What is the nature of your relationship, Riley?”

Eve blinks in confusion at that. “I'm sorry. I don't follow.”

“Do you have an... _open_ relationship with your husband?”

She's flustered all of a sudden, which is beyond stupid because none of this is real, she's just playing an exaggerated role. “It's...uh...complicated.”

Archie smirks. “Sounds like my lucky day.”

On the one hand, she's not actually interested in him in the slightest. On the other, if she shamelessly continues to use him, surely Villanelle will have to eventually take note?

“You could be right,” she smiles back, to which he grins further.

“Well, we should probably be heading back now,” says Archie. “It's not much fun tripping around in the dark out here.” He looks to her. “Unless of course...you'd prefer to have a little fun of our _own_ before we rejoin the masses?”

She's startled by the boldness of this suggestion so she scrambles for a suitable excuse. What was something pregnant women often complained about?

“I'd love to...except my feet are killing me and-”

“We don't have to be _standing_ for what I have in mind.”

Seriously? Riley's married and practically giving birth and he _just_ met her. She's already beginning to regret this decision. He's clearly a high ranking criminal of some sort, or else he wouldn't be here, be privy to the secrets of The Twelve, and she had the bright idea to use him for her own personal gain. This definitely won't turn out to bite her in the ass, not at all.

“I'd rather just go back in,” she says starting to feel a little uncomfortable, wishing Villanelle would show up and incapacitate or kill him.

“Suit yourself,” he says pleasantly enough. “The night is young yet.”

They're partly through the corridor here when they bump into Villanelle again. She looks at the two of them, clenches her jaw. “Sorry for disappearing on you like that, darling,” says Villanelle, a fake smile plastered. “I just had some pressing... _business_ to attend to.”

Villanelle then holds out her hand. It seems to be somewhat begrudgingly that Archie hands her back over. “So, I take it everything was a success?”

“Yes, everything went very smoothly,” answers Villanelle.

“Good,” she says patting Villanelle's arm, “I'm glad.”

And Eve wonders if Archie really does think they're discussing bowel movements at the moment. The thought both amuses and disgusts her.

Back inside, Archie directs them towards the ballroom, half the size of an American football field. There were six massive chandeliers lighting the central space and many other smaller ones on the sides, beneath which are a number of elegantly decorated tables, chairs and refreshments. It's still mostly devoid of people at the moment, but there's some stringed instruments, including a harp, being played by an orchestra of twenty odd musicians.

Archie pulls out a chair for her. “Please, have a seat, Mrs. Bogdanow.”

It's only then that she remembers she was complaining about her feet. The added weight of the belly _is_ aggravating her lower back a bit but her feet are perfectly fine.

Eve sits and the two 'men' just kind of stand there awkwardly after she refuses refreshment from them both. (They had asked nearly at the same time).

There seems to be a considerable amount of tension between them already. She wonders if they're actually going to get into a public fight over her. Wonders wasn't the right word. More like _hoping_. Not that she wants to see Villanelle get hurt...Eve has no doubt Villanelle can take him quite easily...but if a fight _did_ break out, it had to mean _something_ , right?

Her hopes are quickly dashed when she catches another flash of purple and knows what's coming next. Villanelle excuses herself and hurriedly leaves the ballroom.

Archie chuckles. “He really should go see a doctor I think.”

“Oh, he's been to several. No one seems to know what's wrong with him.”

“His loss, my gain.” Archie pulls up a chair before her. “Would you like me to rub them?”

“Excuse me?”

“Your feet.”

“That's kind of you to offer,” she says, feeling uncomfortable again, “but I don't think my husband would appreciate another man touching my feet. He's kind of got a...fetish.”

And what the fuck. Where did that come from?

“Indeed?” laughs Archie. “I won't tell him if you don't.”

Her instinct is to say no, but if she's trying to make Villanelle jealous then if she can time this just right, then maybe Eve can make it so Villanelle catches them in the 'act'.

So Eve relents and sticks her foot in Archie's lap. He takes off her flat and then begins to kneed it gently, then after a few seconds, harder.

“Oh, yes, there's quite a bit of tension here,” he informs her. “No wonder they're hurting you.”

Eve keeps furtively looking towards the entrance of the ballroom, hoping Villanelle will make another appearance after her next kill.

An age goes by before Archie finishes up, slipping her second flat back on. Moments later, Villanelle shows up.

_Come on!_

Except she's apparently not here for Eve, but for another member of The Twelve that she's just noticed entering the space. The space which is considerably fuller, maybe thirty couples are dancing now.

Archie asks her if she would also like to dance. Reticently, she agrees, and takes his hand. They make their way onto the dance floor and begin the mid-tempo waltz.

Archie has a handle of things, not the least of which, her _body,_ and they make several circuits around the room. All the while, Eve keeps trying to spot Villanelle, but Villanelle is nowhere to be found again.

And Eve is starting to get irritated. Why was it so difficult to do this?

Predictably, Villanelle shows up when the rather lengthy waltz is concluded and Archie has finally let go, after getting rather handsy. Thankfully her belly had prevented him from holding her overly close to his own body. Still, she is very glad that it is over and done with and has no wish to relive the experience any time soon.

Villanelle eyes them again, then comes right up to her. “Everything okay here, sweetie?”

It doesn't take a genius to realize that Eve is somewhat uncomfortable right now. And despite lacking the natural tools, Villanelle is highly attuned to the human condition. She can spot another predator a mile away.

“I'm fine, honey...but I'm glad you're back now.”

And Villanelle gazes over at Archie again, who is pretending to watch the other dancers and not their interaction. Her jaw clenches for the umpteenth time but otherwise she remains visibly unaffected.

“How are _you_ doing?” she asks, not really wanting to get into it, even if it might mean a public dressing down...or worse. The less attention they draw to themselves, the better.

“Spot of bother,” answers Villanelle, still glancing at Archie, “but nothing I couldn't handle.”

Eve moves in closer, places a hand to her chest, and whispers, “Um, you've got a bit of... _stuff_ on your cuff there.”

Villanelle seems to be momentarily distracted by their proximity. Then she looks down to the red stain. Villanelle goes over to the nearest table, grabs a glass of water. She takes out her crimson red pocket square and dabs at the still wet blood.

“Bit of jam,” says Villanelle when she notices Archie watching.

He simply nods. When it's as clean as it's going to get, Villanelle says, “Would you like to dance, dear?”

“Actually, I'm pretty tired. Archie here has worn me out.”

She's hoping that this finally hits the mark. She's getting very tired of this charade, within the charade. Charadeception. And she'd be more than glad to be well rid of Archie for the duration of their stay here.

Villanelle looks to him, eyes sharp, but otherwise composed. “Is that so? Thank you for looking after my wife in my absence...but I think I can take it from here.”

Eve wants to fist bump herself, but keeps her cool.

They've literally just exited the ballroom when there's not one, not two, but _three_ cloaked individuals walking passed them.

_Seriously?!_

“Do you _have_ to?” she groans slightly, not really wanting to be left alone again.

“Sorry,” says Villanelle, and for the first time, it seems like she actually means it. Like, she really _does_ wish she could stay here with Eve. “Go stay in the bathroom over there until I return.” She gestures to the one just outside of the ballroom. “I'll be back soon, I promise.” Then almost hesitantly, she gives Eve a peck on the cheek.

It tickles more than anything else because of all of the whiskers. And Archie's allusion to 'sheepdog' comes back to mind.

Speaking of, only mere moments after Villanelle leaves, he's by her side again, foiling any opportunity to be rid of him. “Would you like to see the upper floors, Riley?” he says. “Where the bedrooms are?” he adds unsubtly.

“Actually, I think I'm having second thoughts about that,” she answers, standing her ground even though she really wants to back away from him right about now.

“He doesn't need to know,” persists Archie, taking her hand in his and massaging it like it's her foot. “I can show you a very good time. And I promise not to leave a minute in,” he smirks. “I promise to make sure you're fully satisfied.”

With considerable effort, she takes her hand out of his. “No, thank you,” she says firmly, wondering if a slap may be in order to really get her point across.

“Very well,” says Archie, clearly a bit put out. Still, he's civil enough and leaves her be.

Eve sighs in relief, hopeful that was the last of him for the night.

Now she's left to her own devices, and she's not really sure what to do with herself. Should she wait here until Villanelle returns? Or should she go exploring the estate a bit more?

The decision is made for her when Villanelle doesn't return after half an hour and isn't picking up the phone. Eve's frankly getting a bit worried and her mind is running rampant with all of the horrible things that might have happened to her. Anastasia's bloody corpse is at the forefront, and Eve takes off...as quickly as this stupid disguise will allow her, yet another thing she's regretting tonight.

The mansion is huge though and she's got no clue where to look. It's not like there's going to be a trail of bodies to follow. Villanelle wouldn't be _that_ sloppy in this particular setting. She wanders around for what feels like hours, but is probably only one, before she comes across her.

They're on the uppermost level, in a dimly lit hallway, and Villanelle has clearly just killed the man with something pointy. Blood is seeping out of the body, dripping from the object in her hand.

Eve should be put off, frightened, but she's not. She's fascinated by the sight. Villanelle notices her and freezes, then relaxes when she realizes it's just her.

Villanelle wipes the bloody object off on the man, lays it on his chest, and then grabs him by the arms and starts dragging him into the nearest room, down at the end of the hallway. It's while she's in the process of this that Eve hears some creaking behind her.

She gets goosebumps, fully expecting it to be Archie, but it's not Archie, it's a security guard. And his gun is drawn. And he's nearly in view of Villanelle and the dead guy...not to mention the ever increasing blood trail. Eve quickly steps forward, preventing him from seeing around the bend.

“What are you doing up here, ma'am? This area is strictly off limits to guests.”

Rather than respond, Eve immediately fakes going into labour.

“Oh, God, I think it's coming!” She reaches out to him. “Help me downstairs! Quick! I need to find my husband!”

The bewildered security guard holsters his weapon, takes her arm and escorts her out of the area, all the while she's exaggeratedly grunting and panting, so he doesn't bother asking her further questions.

When they get to the ground floor, he helps her to a chair against the wall here. “Do you have any idea where your husband is, ma'am?”

She almost looks straight up but manages to keep looking forward. “I don't know...I don't know...” she pants.

“Well, do you have a phone on you? Can I call him for you?”

Before she can respond, there's chatter on the guard's walkie talkie. “Found another one,” says a different man. “That makes three.”

“Shit,” curses the guard. “I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm afraid you're on your own.”

He presses the button. “Where are you?”

“East corridor, in the upstairs library.”

“I'm on my way.”

And then he takes off running.

And shit, they're on to her now. She thinks of calling Villanelle again to warn her, but by so doing, she might inadvertently give up her position, or otherwise jeopardize her well being. Villanelle hadn't been answering for a reason, might not even have her phone turned on right now.

And Eve hates this. She hates the not knowing. She hates being useless.

She takes off again down the corridor, then another, then rounds the bend here, and runs straight into Powell himself.

Well, not straight into him. Someone stops her before she collides into him.

One of the guards. There's four of them flanking Powell.

Eve's pulse skyrockets.

He barely spares her a glance though, just distractedly walks passed her.

She lets out a sigh of relief.

Then there's a hand on her shoulder and she jumps out of her skin.

“Calm down, it's just me.”

Eve whirls around and goes to give her a hug, but Villanelle keeps a hand out, keeping her at bay. She thinks she's being rejected again, but then she sees all of the blood. Villanelle's entire front is soaked in red, splashed across her face even. She kind of looks like _Carrie_. A very hairy version.

“What the _hell_ happened?!” she exclaims.

Villanelle pulls her into the nearest room, which just so happens to be another bathroom. There seem to be an awful lot of them around here.

“Hit the jugular by accident.”

“By _accident_? Oksana, you're a serial killer!”

She shrugs. “Even I make mistakes sometimes.”

“I don't suppose the pocket square will help this time.”

Villanelle just looks at her, and then they both snort into a brief bout of laughter. On her part, it's mostly fueled by mild hysteria. This is quickly turning into a literal horror movie.

“We need to go now,” she says, gripping Villanelle's forearms. “They're on to you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So?” she says, trying to tug her along when she makes no move to go.

“I'm not finished yet.”

“Oksana, you can't go around looking like _that_. You'll get spotted right away, beard or no beard.”

“I can't let them get away,” says Villanelle stubbornly. “I'll never find them again if I go now.”

Eve wants to freak out some more but she knows it's not going to accomplish anything. She sighs instead and says, “How many more are there?”

“Just three. I am very close.”

“Okay...How are you going to _get_ close before they evacuate the grounds?”

Villanelle smiles, her teeth appear slightly bloody. And now Eve's picturing a murderous vampire.

Villanelle holds up one of the guards guns and waggles it. “I have an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I wasn't making Eve seem pathetic here...I'm sure she could've done some damage to Archie if she were feeling particularly threatened. I had contemplated V coming up from behind and killing him but y'all probably expected that, so I didn't do that. 
> 
> Question, why is the TV show version of her name Oksana Astonkova, but it's Oxana Vorontsova in the books? I just don't get why they change things like this...maybe it's some sort of aesthetic appeal? Anyway, the main difference between the two mediums is that the show is less detailed but a lot more fun. And V is more sympathetic of a character...at least in her earlier iteration. My main complaint is that I'm half way through and E and V haven't even interacted at all yet...and doesn't seem likely until the very end. So if you think I'm doing a slow burn...think again. :p
> 
> Anyway, who else is here for actual cross-dressing vampire, Villanelle?


	12. Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels

 This is the worst plan ever. She can't believe she keeps getting talked into this shit.

She's waiting for what feels like forever when there's a bang, and hurried footsteps, and then Villanelle bursting into the room. The room being the main floor games room, complete with three pool tables, a number of dart boards and even a few pinball machines, all of which were inexplicably space themed.

Villanelle says nothing at all, just comes up right behind her and grabs her around the waist. She can feel the cold blood through the back of her dress. The shivers start and they don't stop until their prey arrive.

“Relax, Eve,” whispers Villanelle in her ear. “I know what I'm doing.”

“Yeah, why would I be worried at all? It's not like you're using me as a human shield against a bunch of criminal masterminds?”

Eve swears she can feel the answering smile. “You'll be fine. I promise.” A slight pause, “I know what you did for me upstairs. Thank you.”

She's about to say something but then there's the merest of kisses on the back of her right shoulder blade.

Eve doesn't have much time to register this though because the guard that Villanelle let shoot at her is now cautiously entering the room, gun drawn.

Villanelle's answering move is to stick a gun to her head.

Lovely.

“Stay back!” warns Villanelle. “I will do it if you come any closer!”

The guard immediately comes to a halt, but his gun remains aloft, pointed squarely at Eve.

“Ma'am, are you all right?” he asks her.

“There's a homicidal maniac covered in blood holding me at gun point!” she exclaims, barely needing to fake her hysterics, not unlike after Anastasia's murder. “What do _you_ think?!”

“Just, let her go,” he says to Villanelle. “She has nothing to do with this.”

And...that was ironic.

“Not happening,” says Villanelle.

The guard reaches for his walkie talkie with his other hand. His eyes never leave Villanelle's. “Sir, we've got a situation in the games room on the main floor.”

“What _kind_ of a situation?”

“The person of interest currently has a pregnant woman held hostage.”

“Goddammit!”

“How should I proceed, sir?”

“Just...keep him contained. We're on our way.”

“You've got nowhere else to run,” says the guard. “It's over. Just let her go.”

Villanelle scoffs. “Yes, because the moment I do that, you _won't_ shoot me in the head.”

It's a couple minutes of tense silence until the cavalry arrives. There's seven of them in total now, all with their guns trained on Eve. One of them is the same guard she duped earlier.

He stares at her for several moments and then he speaks into his walkie talkie. “You were right, sir, the pregnant woman is Asian.”

And oh shit. She suddenly has a very bad feeling about this. Judging by the way Villanelle's body has stiffened against hers, she thinks she's feeling the same way.

“ _Oksana_ ,” she mutters under her breath.

It's not long after this that Powell, and the other two members of The Twelve stroll into the room, as if they were going for a walk in the park, and not a deadly standoff.

Powell looks at the pair of them and then slow claps. “Bravo. That was quite the show... _Villanelle_.” He raises a hand. “Oh, don't try to deny it. I'd know your... _handiwork_ anywhere.” He smirks. “So, you faked your death _again_? With Ms. Yang's help here? I can't say I'm surprised. You always were a...lady charmer.”

Villanelle takes the gun from her head and points it at Powell instead.

“Come now, Villanelle, we both know how this ends. You might as well just put it down.”

“Okay,” she replies, surprising everyone in the room. “But first, tell me, is that your _real_ hair or a toupee?”

Eve can see that a couple of the guards and one of the remaining Twelve are holding back smirks.

Powell gives her a dark look as if she just insulted his grandmother. “It's my _real_ hair thank you very much.” And then because Powell is vain and in denial, “I've never had _any_ work done in my _entire_ life.”

It's a clear lie. Everyone in the room knows it. More of the guards are trying to hold back smiles.

“Okay, Sam,” says Villanelle patronizingly, “I believe you.”

“You know what,” he begins haughtily, but never gets to finish because there's rapid fire bursts of noise. She watches as five of the guards drop dead. She's pretty sure if Villanelle had fired, her ears would be ringing horribly right now.

Powell, and the other members of The Twelve, duck down, looking for the source of the attack. Then one of the guards gets into a close quarters stand off with the last remaining one, both armed and struggling for dominance.

Seeing this, Powell shoves the other members of The Twelve in their direction, one after the other, and flees the room. Villanelle pushes her aside and shoots them dead in quick succession. Then she gives chase. Eve hears more gun shots going off down the hallway.

She watches the two guards continue to struggle. She's not sure which is the 'good' one and which is the 'bad' one. So not knowing which one to help, she scoops up one of the fallen guards guns and rushes out of the room, listening for more gunshots to direct her footfalls.

They're sporadic and distant now, but she follows them to the back of the estate, occasionally passing a dead guard along the way. There's some light from the overcast moon but otherwise it's pitch black out. And now totally silent save for the fountain.

Eve creeps around, gun aloft, ready to fire at the slightest sound. She's breathing fast and shallow, partly out of running here, and partly out of fear.

Then she hears voices and she moves in closer, her heart beating loudly.

“...matter, Powell? Are you afraid to die?”

“Of course I am! Any sane person would be!” He seems to calm down a bit, resigned to his fate. “Well, just get it over with then.”

Eve comes around the side of the hedge here and can visually see them now. Powell is on the ground, nose and leg bleeding, it looks like she shot him in the calf. Villanelle looms over him like the spectre of death, the grim reaper; the gun is pressed firmly against his skull.

“You hunted me for weeks. Destroyed my life. You don't _deserve_ a quick end.”

“Destroyed your life?” he laughs hysterically. “We _gave_ you your life! You exist _because_ of us! You would have been _rotting_ away in _prison_ for the rest of your _life_ it wasn't for us! And how do you repay us?! You _kill_ people you aren't supposed to kill! You _never_ follow the correct protocols! Then you _dare_ to come into _my_ home and say you are ungrateful?! You are _pathetic_ , Oksana Astonkova, just like your fa-”

Villanelle retracts the gun just enough to pistol whip him in the head, knocking him out.

Eve lowers her weapon and moves a little closer and Villanelle whirls on her, gun pointed. “You shouldn't sneak up on an armed woman in the dark, Eve,” mutters Villanelle, tension oozing from her shoulders. “Bad things can happen.”

Villanelle stashes the gun around back in her pants, and then comes closer to her, so that she can do a visual inspection. Eve's doing the same thing.

“You're not hurt at all, right?” she asks for good measure.

“I'm fine,” says Villanelle.

“Good.” She looks towards Powell. “What are you going to do with him?”

Villanelle smiles. “I'm sure I can come up with _several_ things.”

And that's unnerving to her. Sure Villanelle has killed tons of people, but as far as she knows, she's never _tortured_ any of them.* Eve's afraid of Pandora's Box being opened. Villanelle was already a loose canon as it was...if she got a taste for torture, all hell could break loose.

But Eve would rather not think about the potential impending apocalypse and distracts herself by asking, “So...what the hell happened back there?”

Villanelle's smile widens.

She narrows her eyes, annoyed. “You _knew_ that was going to happen, didn't you?”

“Maybe,” says Villanelle slyly.

“And you _couldn't_ have let me know ahead of time?” she says exasperatedly, rolling her eyes.

“More fun this way,” says Villanelle smugly.

“How did you get him to _do_ that?” She thinks back to what Powell said, about her being a lady charmer. “What did you do... _seduce_ him?”

Villanelle raises both eyebrows, laughs. “Believe me, I've tried. He's immune to my...charms.”

And Eve has no idea who she's talking about.

“Clearly not all of them,” says another voice, right behind her. She jumps. She hadn't heard anyone approaching at all, but Villanelle undoubtedly saw them, which no doubt only increased her enjoyment of Eve's confusion.

Eve turns around to face him and it takes her several moments at close range to recognize him without the beard. He looks like a totally different person just without the facial hair.

“Hello, Eve,” says Konstantin.

“But you're-”

“Dead?” finishes Konstantin. He looks to Villanelle. “So is she.”

“But why-”

“Did I help her? They tried to have me killed.” He shrugs and grimaces slightly, as though he is injured in some way. “Funny how allegiances change when that happens.”

“How did-”

“I come to be here? Carolyn showed me the body. I knew it wasn't her. I knew she was up to something, that she was being naughty again. I made contact yesterday.”

Okay, this was starting to get annoying. She was starting to understand where Villanelle got it from.

She turns back to face Villanelle. “So you _really_ weren't trying to get yourself killed?”

Konstantin breaks out into a short burst of surprised laughter, like rapid gunfire. “ _Villanelle_? You thought Villanelle wanted to _die_?”

“I kept telling her that she was being stupid, but she wouldn't listen to me. She even started _crying_ about it.”

“You should never waste tears on Villanelle, Eve,” says Konstantin serious again. “She's not worth it.”

“Hey!” complains Villanelle. “I am _too_ worth it!”

“I'm sorry...but you really aren't.”

Villanelle pouts, though it's a bit hard to tell in this light, with the facial hair.

“Anyway,” continues Konstantin, “we should probably get going now. Some of the remaining guests will have surely called the cops.”

“Fine,” grumbles Villanelle. “I just need to get him. You'll carry him, right?”

“No. I am too tired. And that last guard hurt my shoulder again. Just kill him and let's go.”

“No, I'm _not_ going to kill him yet.” She looks to Eve. “Help me with him.”

“I'm with Konstantin. Just kill him now.”

“Listen to your girlfriend, Villanelle.”

“She's _not_ my girlfriend,” says Villanelle annoyed. Then she adds, “She's my wife.” Villanelle looks at her and bats her eyelashes, like she is Bambi and not the hunter that slayed his mother. “Won't you please help me, dearest one?”

Eve sighs. “Let's just get this over with.”

She puts the gun down and goes to take Powell's arms while Villanelle goes for his legs.

Her belly's getting in the way though, making it awkward to bend down that far. “I'm just gonna take this off-”

“Yes, fine. Do it,” says Villanelle impatiently.

It takes a bit of finagling with the dress still on, but she finally gets the strap undone, and drops the fake tummy to the ground like a sack of stones. She's very happy to be rid of it and has no plans to become pregnant...ever again.

They prepare to take their respective limbs.

But before either reaches them, Powell grabs the gun and shoots Villanelle. Villanelle staggers back, a hand to her chest. Eve is frozen in place. She barely has time to register the gun going off again, and the pain in her own body.

Vaguely she's aware that Powell's on the move and that there's more gunfire, but it sounds kind of like she's underwater now. And she feels kind of like she's drowning, struggling to get to Villanelle with her last breaths.

Villanelle likewise seems to be moving towards her, but with considerably more ease.

“Eve,” she says, voice distant. “Eve, can you hear me?”

Villanelle's supporting her now, stopping her from falling. “Konstantin!” she yells. “Forget him, get back here!”

Villanelle takes her face in her hands. “You're going into shock. You're going to pass out now.”

“How...how...”

She wants to know how Villanelle seems to be unharmed. But she can't fight the pull of darkness any longer and slips into unconsciousness.

 

*

 

Oksana's standing in the corner, arms crossed, watching Eve rest in the queen sized bed. She's still wearing the blood soaked clothes from the gala. They're dry now but caked and every time she moves they crack a little. There's a gentle roll to the room because the floor isn't on solid ground.

Konstantin comes back into the bedroom for the second time that hour to check on Eve, to make sure there's no additional bleeding, that everything is secure and holding. She suspects he's here more for _her_ benefit than Eve's.

Once he's satisfied he turns to her and says, “She's going to be fine.”

“I know.”

“I'm only telling you this because you seem worried.”

“I'm not.”

“You like her.”

“No, I don't.”

Oksana's not sure why she's still denying this. She figures it's kind of like a reflex at this point.

“Yes, you do. That's why you're still standing there like that.”

“Do you want me to shoot you again?”

He comes over and places a hand on her shoulder. “If you ever _dare_ to again I will not hesitate to put you in the ground.”

And she believes him. She has no reason to disbelieve him.

“You should really let me take a look at you as well.”

“I'm fine.”

“Bullet proof vests stop you from being punctured, but you can still receive internal damage if the round is high impact enough...or close range enough.” Konstantin sighs when she doesn't respond. “At least change out of your clothes. You're scaring Mischa.”

Mischa is a Grey African Parrot, who is currently gently swaying from the roof. It's hanging upside down in its cage, staring at her. Its neck feathers are puffed out slightly. She had barely registered its presence. Now that she has, she is annoyed. She doesn't like it when animals stare at her. She doesn't like animals in general. Mostly because they don't like her. They seem to be able to instinctively tell what she is. Not unlike small children...

“Mischa can take a swim in the ocean if she doesn't like it. She looks like she could do with a bath anyway. In fact, I think I can smell the stench of shit from here.”

Konstantin bristles. “When you are on my boat you will respect my family...or you will get _off_ my boat. Say you are sorry.”

“I will not,” she scoffs. She can't believe that Konstantin is serious right now. That he actually considers a dumb bird to be part of the family. She's never understood this fascination with keeping pets, or all of the dumb animal videos, and she thought Konstantin was better than that. That he was more like her than not. But apparently she was wrong. She loses a little bit of respect for him in that moment.

Konstantin points. “Go over there and say you are sorry, Villanelle, or I will drop you _and_ your _wife_ overboard.”

“You won't do it.”

“I will.”

“No, you won't.”

Konstantin glares at her, then goes over to the stupid bird and brings it before her. “Say you are sorry.”

It looks at her with its beady eyes and hisses its displeasure at their proximity.

“No.”

It continues to regard her warily for a few beats and then says in Russian, “You smell of cabbage.”

Now it's Oksana's turn to bristle. She uncrosses her arms and puts her face before the rat with wings, hoping to intimidate it like she would a human. “I do not.”

“Do so.”

“No, I don't.”

Still in Russian. “You are a naughty girl who smells of cabbage.”

“Shut up.”

“Капуста. Капуста. Капуста. Капуста. Капу-”

“Shut up or I will shoot you in the face!” she screams at it.

Konstantin takes extreme offense to this, and shoves Villanelle into the wall, hitting her straight where she was shot. She grimaces at the reverberating pain, like she was just shot all over again, but doesn't go to hold the spot, even though she desperately wants to.

“Hurts, doesn't it? Now you know how I feel.”

And then he rips off her mustache and haughtily leaves the bedroom with the evil creature in hand. She plans to murder it at the first opportunity. She just needs to wait for Konstantin to fall asleep...

And dammit, Konstantin made the vest dig in painfully, and it's burning more and more with every second. Begrudgingly, she strips her upper half and then tenderly removes the vest. It's equal parts painful and pleasurable to her, and her eyes flutter a bit during the process. Once it's off, she unwraps the bindings as well, and goes to stand before the bathroom mirror. There's an angry red welt there the size of her fist...or perhaps Konstantin's fist. It's right over her heart. If she hadn't been wearing the vest...well, it was best she didn't think about that.

She touches it directly for the first time and her eyes nearly roll into the back of her skull. It hurts so much...but she kind of loves that, and touches it again, pressing a little harder this time. She had the same love/hate relationship with her knife wound. Oksana wouldn't classify herself as a masochist, but she wouldn't say no to a little pain every now and again either. It made her feel alive in a way few other things could, the main exception of course being, killing people.

She removes her shoes and pants and underwear. Everything was caked in blood. She takes off the beard and the wig too and now there's no trace of the evening left...except for the welt, bruises and the dried blood all over her body.

Oksana runs herself a bath and gets in, hissing as a bit of warm water touches the most recent wound. Absentmindedly she traces her fingertips over the old knife wound. She was furious with Eve for ruining her flawless skin. But now she kind of likes it. It adds character. Reminds her that she can survive anything if she wants to badly enough. And now she has another souvenir courtesy of Eve. She doesn't think she'll scar this time, but it was impossible to say right now.

Oksana knows that _technically_ it's her own fault that she's been injured, that if she had just _listened_ to them, Powell would be dead, this tumultuous saga of her life would be over, and Eve wouldn't be recuperating from a gunshot wound. But Oksana doesn't much like taking responsibility for her actions, so she pretends that it's Eve's own fault for stupidly leaving the gun where she did, or having one in the _first_ place when she's not even willing to use it.

In any case, what was done, was done. There's nothing she can do about it now. Except wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Villains always have to slow clap. Them's the rules.
> 
> *The Chinese colonel doesn't count since that wasn't real torture (and in the book she doesn't actually do any of the 'torturing', just the killing)
> 
> Look I hope this wasn't too triggering for y'all. I did try to minimize it as much as possible. I figured there was no point ending it with them being shot cuz no one would believe I was going to kill either of them off like that, or at all, and no point in making y'all suffer...beyond the slow burn that is. Haha.
> 
> I have zero clue where the parrot came from. It was just...there all of a sudden. Maybe the fact they're on a boat...
> 
> My original idea for how this would go is that they'd get pinned down behind the pool table and V would have two guns and be blasting the hell out of everyone and Eve would just be beside her screaming her head off and V would be screaming at her to shut up and it was just going to be one giant shit show. Anyway...I went the less dramatic route...I guess. Surprise attack. Been waiting to bring K into this since like day 1 lol.


	13. Odette

 

It's been days now and she's getting very impatient. Not worried, of course not. Just...tired of waiting for Eve to finally wake up. There's not much to do on this damn boat except listen to Konstantin's choice of music. Russian classics. Her least favourite type of music these days. Even American country music was better. Him _and_ the parrot have been singing along non-stop. The parrot has a nicer singing voice than Konstantin. She has a funny feeling he's purposely trying to drive her insane as payback for insulting the stupid bird and refusing to apologize. Expecting her to break. To give in. But she won't do it. She won't give him the satisfaction of knowing that he's gotten to her.

So she distracts herself by talking to Eve. It starts out with small things. The weather and what she is wearing that day. Insulting Konstantin's singing and cooking and taste in music and animals. Then she goes deeper as she talks about her childhood and the things Eve wanted to know that day in Paris. She gives her an entire oral history of everything. Her family, her prison time...Anna. It takes hours and hours and hours, but she finds it to be an interesting exercise. To see how much she actually remembers. To see how much she actually _wanted_ to remember.

Now she's run out of things to say about her life, and the music and singing is getting to her again. So she starts telling Eve things she wouldn't otherwise say. In other languages of course, just in case. She finds that the more she says these things, the more she knows them to be true. And that's a scary thought to her. No, not scary...just unexpected.

When words finally fail her, there's nothing left to do but get increasingly irritated by the music. She's on the verge of going out there and killing them both when there's some stirring beside her.

For some silly reason her heart rate picks up, and she feels stupid for being in the bed with Eve, for saying all of those things. But then Eve's eyes open and she just freezes and waits for Eve to take note of her presence.

Eve blinks a few times, stares up at the ceiling in confusion, then over at her.

Automatically she smiles. She can't help it. “Hi,” she says almost childishly, and hates the hesitant sound of her own voice.

“What happened?” says Eve groggily.

“You were shot,” she explains.

“No wonder I feel like I've been turned inside out.”

“Well, now you know how it feels.”

Eve looks sideways at her, raises an eyebrow. “Pretty sure a gun trumps a knife.”

“No, I am pretty sure you are wrong,” she says smugly. “I bled _much_ more than you did.”

And why is she turning this into a thing, like it's some sort of competition. She doesn't want to talk about being stabbed. She will get angry if she does. She doesn't want to get angry right now.

Eve lets that slide and says, “Where are we? Are we moving?”

She nods. “We're on Konstantin's boat.”

“And Powell?”

“He got away.”

“Of course he did,” she groans, trying to sit more upright.

She lays a hand to Eve's shoulder, eases her back down. “Don't strain yourself. And don't worry, I will get him. I promise.”

Eve looks at her for a few beats. “Careful, Oksana...I might start to think you actually _care._ ”

“That's preposterous,” she replies, remaining stoic. “I don't even _like_ you.”

Then she smiles and Eve smiles back and she feels the urge to play with Eve's hair now, so she doesn't have to make eye contact when she says this next bit. Her hair feels a bit gross since Eve hasn't washed it in days, but still nice. Anything is better than that dreadful wig...which she tossed overboard at the first opportunity.

“You scared me.”

“When I got shot?”

Yes.

“No, before that...in the bathroom...you said some things...some _true_ things...like maybe I _was_ hoping something might happen to me.” Then she shrugs. “Not really though. Just sort of.”

“And now?”

“Now...now I know what I want.”

“And what's that?” says Eve, a spark of hope in her eyes.

And she can't bring herself to say it, to be serious.

She looks Eve dead in the eyes. “To open up an ice cream parlor.”

Now that she's said it out loud, she almost likes the sounds of it. Almost. But it would be so boring. She would probably burn the place down within a week. Children and all...

“You're not serious.”

“I am extremely serious. I will call it...Villanelle's Chills.”

She's proud of herself for concocting that one out of thin air with barely any hesitation. Most of the time what could be perceived as excellent improvisation is actually just well rehearsed cover stories. Out of necessity, she's got a pretty good memory and about a dozen or so identities on the go at any one given moment. At a whim, she can take details from any of these identities and mix and match them to suit her fancy. The results could sometimes be contradictory...but only smart people who were paying attention would notice. Needless to say she has rarely been called out on her bullshit.

“Don't be a dick.”

Oksana smirks. “Isn't that what you like about me?”

“No.”

“It is...just a little bit,” she teases. “Admit it.”

“No. That's not what I _like_ about you, Oksana...” Eve hesitates then continues, “that's what I _love_ about you.”

It's not the same thing as saying, _I love you_ , but close enough in Oksana's mind to take her completely off guard. She was so far from expecting such a confession that she is left literally speechless. Very few people have said this to her in her life. And even fewer have genuinely meant it. The most recent of which was Konstantin...although, she's not entirely sure his confession counts since she had him at gunpoint. Whatever the truth really was, it's the reason she didn't kill him. Then...and _now_.

“Eve...” she murmurs, caressing the side of her face.

Eve's just looking at her expectantly and Oksana feels obliged to reciprocate in the only way she knows how. She shimmies closer until they're practically nose to nose. She keeps eye contact until the last second and then finally presses her lips to Eve's. After nearly a year of imagining this very moment, she has very high expectations. So when the kiss deepens and her mouth immediately becomes enveloped with Bad Breath, she recoils, the thousands of fantasies dying with them.

“Ugh,” she says, quickly rubbing her hand on her tongue several times, trying to forcefully get the taste of rotten eggs to go away. “Yuck.”

Eve blushes, obviously very embarrassed. “Was it...um...really _that_ bad?”

“Revolting,” says Oksana truthfully. And then she looks at Eve, and sees that she is teary eyed again, and that she probably thinks the kiss _itself_ is the issue here. “Your breath,” she explains. “It is not so good.”

“Oh,” says Eve, when she clues in that she is not a terrible kisser. Well, the jury was still out on _that_ one. She hadn't kissed Eve long enough to know one way or the other.

Then they stare at one another and giggle.

“I will go get you a mint. Or ten.”

“Dick.”

Oksana rolls off the bed, gritting her teeth as she moves over her welt, then rifles through Konstantin's things for a short while. She doesn't find any mints though, so she begrudgingly goes out to the deck above.

The roar of the engines and the waves assails her ears. It's a bit blinding out here after spending so much time indoors. Konstantin's over by the steering wheel, his boombox and parrot still making a godawful racket.

She goes up to him and asks if he has any mints or gum or anything really. She has to talk quite loudly, scream almost to be heard.

He just looks at her, pats his chest pocket, and says, “I have some gum.”

“Can I have it?”

“No.”

His gaze drifts towards the parrot.

She huffs. “If I apologize to your stu-”

Konstantin's eyes flash and she catches herself.

“If I apologize to _Mischa_ , will you give it to me?”

“Perhaps.” And then blessedly he turns off the boombox, as if he wants all the world to hear this.

Oksana bites her lip then turns towards the parrot. Its got its head cocked to the side. “I am sorry, Mischa,” she mutters.

Konstantin puts a hand to his ear. “What was that, Villanelle?”

“I am sorry, Mischa!” she practically yells.

“Sorry for what?”

“For saying the mean thing about her.”

“Don't tell _me_. Tell _him_.”

She looks to the parrot. It was male? How the fuck do you tell that sort of thing again? Whatever.

“I am sorry for saying you smelled of shit, Mischa. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?”

Mischa observes her, hackles raised, and hisses once more. Villanelle knows what's coming before it does, but it doesn't make it any easier to deal with.

“Naughty girl. Naughty girl. Cabbage. Cabbage. Cabbage.”

It takes everything within her not to grab the cage and chuck it overboard right then.   
Furious, she nonetheless turns back to Konstantin with a smile in place. “There. I did it.” She holds out her hand. “Gum, please.”

“Mmm, on second thought, I don't think so. I only have a few pieces left.”

“ _Konstantin_ ,” she warns. “If you don't give me the gum _right_ now I will-”

“Wow, you must really like her.”

“ _What_?” she says sharply.

“I didn't think you'd actually do it. Apologize. Therefore I must conclude that you really like her. Or maybe you just want in her pants. And she's in no condition for _that_ , Villanelle.”

“I _know_ that,” she protests.

“ _Do_ you?” he says eyeing her closely.

“I promise to be careful,” she half whines. “I just want to... _kiss_ her. That's all.”

“Somehow I don't believe you. Or more to the point, I don't believe _her_.” He looks straight at Oksana's crotch. “What did you name her again...it was O something. Ostrich? Ogre?”

She knows Konstantin is being purposefully obtuse.

“Odette,” she murmurs.

He snaps. “That's it. From everything I know about _Odette_ , she's never satisfied with _just_ kissing.” He pauses for a moment. “I heard you, you know. What you were saying to her.”

For a brief second she thinks he's talking about her vagina, then she understands.

Oksana stiffens. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“When you were talking about how much you l-”

She puts a hand over his mouth, as if Eve would actually be able to hear this conversation. And maybe she can. If Konstantin somehow heard _her_...anything was possible. Then again, he always _did_ have radar ears, like a dog.

Oksana has a temporary urge to smother him to death. It passes pretty quickly though because he shoves her off of him.

They simply stare at one another for quite some time. Then he sighs and takes out the packet of gum. “If you kill her, it's on you.”

She doesn't thank him, just snatches it out of his hand and rushes back down the stairs, the anticipation and excitement building rapidly.

“Sorry that took so long,” she says coming back into the bedroom. “Konstantin was being an arsehole.”

When Eve doesn't respond, she gets a little closer and swears in several different languages in a row.

Eve is fast asleep again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, after I wrote this, the whole gum thing just reminded me of those commercials they used to have about practicing safe sex. Lol.
> 
> Well they finally kissed for real. Was it everything you hoped for and more? XD
> 
> (They will kiss properly next chapter)
> 
> I don't wanna beg for more comments...but please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a gun on top?


	14. Ground Control to Major Kon

 

A couple more days go by where very little happens. Eve continues to sleep a lot, and though it's fun to watch her, to go right up to her face and make funny faces to see if she's faking it, that gets old pretty quickly. She's played cards with Konstantin for a few hours, but doesn't like that she rarely wins against him even when she cheats. She's exercised and masturbated until she can barely move. And still she's so incredibly bored, she's going to jump off the boat and swim to shore. She doesn't care that it's probably a thousand kilometres away from civilization in any given direction.

They were keeping on the move, staying away from everything until Konstantin's contact got back to them with information on Powell. They couldn't use Kenny anymore. For one thing he had been unable to locate Powell the last time, computer wizardry aside. For another, Kenny was in protective custody right now, cut off from the world and especially the internet. In fact, all of Eve's close connections were being confined in a similar manner by MI5. Eve had been startled, had railed against this decision, claiming they couldn't be trusted. But Carolyn had personally and privately chosen the safe houses and the safe keepers, and since Konstantin trusted _her_ , that was all that mattered.

Powell would come after her, come after _all_ of them, with the full force of his power and riches until they were finally wiped off the face of the earth. If that meant stooping to kidnapping or killing women and children...so be it.

For the moment they've reached a stalemate. In which neither can seem to get the upper hand on the other. Sooner or later the chinks in the armour would have to show. Someone would screw up and reveal themselves.

And that's when they would strike.

She hasn't been chastising herself exactly about her blunder. She's just annoyed that she can't sleep with Eve more than anything else. This neverending boat trip would be a _lot_ more interesting if she could. She wonders when they finally do it, if Eve will actually be any good. Oksana is pretty sure Eve has never been with a woman before...and she's also pretty sure Eve hasn't been with _anyone_ in quite awhile. It explained why she was always so crabby and pissed off at Oksana about innocently messing with her friends.

Part of the point in sleeping with older women was that they were _supposed_ to be experienced in these matters. She doesn't like having to 'train' new people every time she picks someone up at the bar, or the club, or the grocery store. She wants to give and receive (but mostly receive) pleasure as fast and frequently as possible. Oksana figures she can't be too harsh on Eve...it's not like Anna was experienced with women before their first time. The main difference was...neither had she. She hadn't been with many people before Anna. She was locked up for many years in her youth, and the guards were very 'mean' to inmates who 'played' with one another. That's part of why she was so accustomed to _The Hole_...and iterations of it.

The other part was because she kept beating people up, out of boredom mostly.

There wasn't anyone to beat up here though, hence her bouncing off the walls. She can't believe people pay hundreds, even thousands of dollars to be stuck on a cruise liner for weeks on end. If that ever happens to her, she will systematically kill the guests one by one. Or hijack the boat and steer it aground. Or overload the engine room and blow the entire thing to Kingdom Come.

She's literally climbing the metal slanting walls when Eve next wakes up. Her bare feet are giving her pretty good contact and she thinks maybe she'll take rock climbing up when this whole stupid thing is finally done.

“Good evening, Spiderman.”

Oksana glances over to Eve who is looking bemused at her antics. “Spiderman is shit,” she replies. “I am much better.”

Right as she says this, her foot slips and she goes sliding down the wall and lands flat on her face.

“Pretend you didn't see that.”

She looks over to Eve again who is trying not to laugh. “Don't you dare,” she complains. “You ruined my concentration. I only fell because of you.”*

Eve composes herself and Oksana stops glaring and comes over to her side. “Do you want some dinner?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I'll be right back.”

She goes into the next room, the kitchen/living room and heats up leftover Potage Saint-Germain, otherwise known as Fresh Pea Soup. Oksana puts a generous portion in a bowl, places this on a food tray, along with a bun and a sparkling glass of water, and brings it back to Eve, who has already propped herself up, all on her own. Oksana wouldn't say she's proud of her exactly, but she is pleased. It meant that they were one step closer to being able to have sex without worrying about doing any damage.

She lays the tray over Eve's lap and then goes back to the wall, to start over again, and see if she can reach the ceiling this time.

With the exception of the motor, and the clink of a spoon in a bowl, it's quiet for a bit...and then, “I heard you...when you were talking about your life.”

Oksana's so startled by this confession that she slips and falls off again, landing even more awkwardly than the last time. Did everyone have radar ears on this fucking boat?

“I don't remember everything,” continues Eve, “there was a lot...and I was only semi-conscious...but I remember enough.”

Oksana gets off the floor and turns to her. “I was just trying to pass the time,” she says flippantly. “Most of it was nonsense.”

And she's not sure why she's getting so up and arms about this. She thinks maybe she doesn't want to have to answer all of Eve's questions. Or perhaps she's afraid Eve somehow understood all of those other, _secret_ things...

“No, it wasn't,” says Eve, catching her eye. “I mean you _are_ a great liar, and a great story teller, Oksana, but everything you said was true, wasn't it?”

“Fine, yes,” she confesses after a long beat.

“You've lived quite the life. Not that I'm surprised. Although...I could've done without the part where you described all the ways you had sex with Anna...but other than that...it was... _nice_ to get to know you better.”

“Why? Did it make you jealous, Eve?” she teases.

“More disturbed than anything really,” says Eve, making a face.

Oksana pouts.

“I'm joking...sort of,” says Eve. “Do you want to hear about my life now?”

“Not really. It's probably very dull.”

“Dick.”

They had gotten to this place where Oksana associated the word with _I love you._ It probably didn't mean that to Eve, but that's how she was taking it from now on, because, why not?

“Go on then,” she says, going back to her futile climbing business. “Tell me about baby Eve.”

And so, Eve goes on and on and on about her life, and Oksana long since gives up the wall stuff and goes to lie on the bed, watching Eve's face as it got animated, interjecting here and there every five minutes or so to clarify some point or other; American expressions were often very confusing to her. Surreptitiously, she offers Eve gum during her narration. Oksana loves pea soup, but not the onion breath that comes with it, particularly not with her head in Eve's lap and so close to the source of the stench.

When Eve finally comes to a close around one in the morning, Oksana's first words are, “Wow, it was just as boring as I expected. More so actually.”

“Dick,” says Eve playfully.

Oksana smirks and says, “I liked the bits about the snake bite and when you broke your arm. Oh and the bit about the dog dying. That was hilarious.”

She expects Eve to get pissed off or exasperated or disturbed by the things she (genuinely) enjoyed. Eve's response is wholly different.

“So you actually paid attention the whole time?”

“Yes, of course,” she says confused by the direction this conversation has taken. “You thought I wouldn't?”

Eve bites her lip and then says, “I thought you had ADHD.”

Oksana can't even respond right away because it was so random. “What. Why would you think that?”

“Because you get bored constantly, have little patience and do crazy things all the time. You were literally climbing the walls a few hours ago. Have you never been tested?” Eve seems to hesitate before adding, “Never been on any medications?”

Oksana blinks and then scowls. She pulls away from Eve and gets off the bed. “You think I should be on drugs? You think I need to be _controlled_?”

She's not upset. She's pissed off.

Everyone was always trying to control her. The Twelve, Konstantin...now Eve.

“No...but I think maybe you'd like to be able to control _yourself_ better.”

“I like the way I am....and I _thought_ you did too.”

Oksana looks at Eve accusingly, hoping to make her feel as badly as possible.

She's not upset. She's just pissed off.

If she keeps telling herself this, she may even start to believe it.

The mark is hit and Eve flounders, flinching like Oksana slapped her. “I do...that's not...I wasn't trying to...look, I'm sorry, Oksana. That wasn't my intent. I just thought it must get exhausting sometimes...having your brain going around like that, never slowing down.”

She's not upset. She's just pissed off.

“You know what my _crazy_ brain is telling me to do right now? That it keeps saying over and over again and hasn't shut up abou t since the gala?”

“Kill me?”

“No. Kiss her. Fuck her. But have I done either of those things? No, because I _am_ capable of controlling myself when I want to. I just don't _want_ to most of the time. I don't _care_ to.”

She's not upset. She's just pissed off.

“Look, I'm sorry okay. Forget I even brought it up.” Eve pats her thigh. “Come back. _Please.”_

Oksana doesn't want to give in, but at the same time, she isn't about to turn down the opportunity to cuddle with Eve some more, or play with her hair, which has been recently washed and smells heavenly. Oksana had innocently offered to give her a sponge bath but Eve had refused and managed on her own.

She crawls back into the bed and curls into Eve's upright side. Eve hugs her awkwardly with one arm. Oksana finds her warmth and fresh scent very inviting and she keeps nuzzling closer and closer into the crook of Eve's neck and all of her lovely curls. She inhales deeply a few times, lavishing in it all, and then she presses a few butterfly kisses there, enjoying Eve's sharp intake of breath. She continues to lightly kiss her there, then begins suckling the soft, tender skin until Eve murmurs, “Oksana...I don't know if this is a good-”

“Shh,” she soothes, kissing along her jawbone now. “I know what I am doing.”

She stops for a moment, they both freeze really, because that was precisely what she had said the last time they were in a similar circumstance.

Oksana shrugs the coincidence off and takes Eve's face sideways in her hands. They share brief eye contact, in which she can see that Eve is into this, and then she kisses her again, full on the lips. It's languid for a couple seconds, both of them just getting a feel for things, getting used to each other, then she tentatively opens her mouth to let more of Eve in. No nasty taste assails her senses, just faint remnants of the soup that Oksana loves, peppermint and something else inherently Eve, so she dives straight in, blindly searching like an overeager spelunker in the dark. Eve tastes so good and she wants more and more, hungrily consuming, devouring, claiming every inch of her mouth and tongue.

She breaks apart momentarily to straddle Eve, doing her best not to aggravate her wound. Either of their wounds, really. Oksana puts both her hands in Eve's hair, like she's imagined a thousand times before, and draws her back for more. Eve is getting more into this too, her hands are roaming up and down Oksana's sides, all across the expanse of her back. Finally they come to rest on her hips, Eve's fingers dipping beneath the hem of her shirt to touch bare flesh.

Then Eve does this thing with her tongue that turns her on so much that she unconsciously starts rubbing herself against Eve's abdomen. She gets faster and rougher and stops kissing altogether, and Eve is saying something to her, but she can't hear anything beyond the feeling of her own impending orgasm, and then she feels a wetness down there...a gushing wetness, and she looks down and sees red. For a split second she thinks it's coming out of Odette, then she realizes it's coming out of Eve. And she looks up to find Eve staring at the blood leaking out of her bullet wound, and then Eve pushes her off of her, and places her hand over the torn stitches.

“ _Now_ , look what you've done,” grimaces Eve. “Well, don't just sit there looking stupid, go get Konstantin.”

That's the last thing she wants to do right now, but she goes to do it anyway. Konstantin was asleep on the pull out couch and is not very happy about this interruption, especially when she tells him why.

“ _Seriously_ , Villanelle?” he complains, running a hand down his tired face. Face that's already half covered with a new beard. “What did I _say_?”

“It's not my fault,” she deflects. “Eve shouldn't have let me near her.”

“Yes, blame the bedridden gunshot victim for Odette's inability to control herself.”

He gets up and grabs his medical bag and heads in.

The pulsing and throbbing comes back to her then with a vengeance. She had been so close to release. She _has_ to do something about this or she will explode.

So while Konstantin is otherwise occupied with re-stitching Eve up, Oksana slinks into the bathroom and shoves her hand down her pants. It doesn't take long before the familiar burst of endorphins flood her mind and body and she's closing her eyes and throwing her head back and riding this heady sensation out for as long as possible. This orgasm was definitely stronger than the ones she had achieved solely on her own when fantasizing about Eve.

Okay, she could officially say that Eve was a good kisser.

She washes her hand off and then goes back into the bedroom. Konstantin is still repairing the damage she caused. She supposes she should feel guilty about this, but she doesn't. She's just pleasantly sated (for now).

Apparently it's written all over her face because Eve takes one look at her and incredulously says, “Did you just... _masturbate_ in the bathroom while I was bleeding out again?”

“Maybe,” she grins.

“Jesus Christ, Oksana.”

“What?” she shrugs. She honestly doesn't understand what the big deal is. “Konstantin had it under control. I couldn't do anything anyway.”

“Except yourself.”

“Yes, except that.” She smiles even more. “Odette is a very happy camper now.”

Eve frowns. “I'm...not even gonna touch that one...”

“I wish you would.”

“What?”

“Odette is my vagina, Eve.”

Konstantin makes no comments. He's probably pretending he isn't here right now. He's probably imagining himself with his annoying kid and his fat wife on a beach somewhere.

“You named it,” facepalms Eve. “Of course you did.”

“You didn't? Do you want to name her together?”

Okay and now she's just having some fun.

“Sure, why not?” says Eve.

“Really?” she says, genuinely surprised and pleased. Her mind is already running through several possibilities. Like Candace...or Sophia...or...Wilma.

Eve scowls. “No, not _really_. I'm mad at you.”

“Why?”

“Because you didn't listen to me when I told you to stop!” she exclaims exasperatedly.

“Oh that,” she waves it away like a pesky wasp. Then she grins and says, “What can I say, Eve, you are a _very_ sexy kisser.”

“What?” Eve sounds confused. Almost embarrassed.

“One of the better kissers I've ever kissed. You should be proud of yourself.”

Eve almost seems to be blushing now, like no one has every complimented her kissing prowess before. It's sweet and laughable and pathetic all at the same time. Oksana knows she can manipulate Eve pretty easily back into the sway of things if she so chose to right now.

She crawls into the bed again, hovers near Eve's face. “In fact, how about-”

Konstantin's dragging her out of the room now by the scruff of her neck, well, her shirt. He drags her up the stairs and outside, and she realizes what's about to happen a moment before it does, and tries to put the brakes on her momentum like a frightened cat about to be tossed in the bathtub.

But it's too late, she's already in the air and splashing down in the ocean.

It's freezing and she yelps in near pain when she resurfaces.

“Hopefully this is enough to cool you down.”

“You are going to _pay_ for this, Konstantin!” she yells, teeth chattering already.

Konstantin just stares down at her dispassionately. “Goodnight, Villanelle,” he says, and leaves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the funny thing is I accidentally wrote 'I only feel because of you' the first time I wrote this
> 
> I am very good at writing romance scenes, aren't I? Especially the analogies. A spelunker? Seriously? *face palm 
> 
> I'm probably gonna be updating this daily until it's done. So yay for y'all I guess. (But also, once it's done I won't be writing or posting anything for a looong time...so that au movie star one probably won't see the light of day until like next year haha)


	15. Build Me Up Buttercup

Villanelle's mad at her for making her sick.

Unsurprisingly, she is the least gracious sick person Eve's ever known, complaining constantly, expecting to be tended to day and night. Konstantin's not going to do it...and neither is she. She can't risk compromising her immune system right now.

So they haven't talked much in the last week.

Eve tried to explain to her that being cold doesn't _give_ you a cold. That's a misconception. The fact that she got sick soon after being dumped in the ocean was a coincidence, she was probably already coming down with a cold before the gala. But Villanelle wouldn't or couldn't hear her (possibly because she was so stuffed up).

Despite Villanelle's bedroom antics, her wound seems to be healing up nicely, and the pain has lessened considerably every time she moves...or breaths. It's not gone, not by a long shot, but it's much more manageable, and she doesn't need the drugs as much anymore.

She's even had the strength to go above deck. To breathe in the lovely sea salt air, to feel the breeze and the warmth of the sun on her skin. It's heaven after being cooped up for so long. She can't even remember the last time she was on a boat. That's a lie...it was for a romantic cruise around the British Isles with Niko for their third year anniversary. But thinking about Niko is still painful to her, so she'd rather not.

In any case, she's made friends with Mischa, which in turn has made Konstantin take quite a liking to her, and he's been telling her a lot of stories about his family - whom he hasn't seen since he was shot - and the 'good old days' when he was at the height of his spycraft. He's clearly leaving out a lot of key details, but it's still fascinating to Eve regardless. At one point she dreamed of being a spy, of taking part in old school cloak and dagger counter-surveillance tactics. Now that she's participated in this world, now that she's been shot, she's kind of glad that never came to pass. Konstantin has several scars from bullet and stab wounds alike. She can't imagine voluntarily going through this more than once.

Another week goes by in which she starts to build up a rapport with Villanelle again, once she's feeling back to her old self. Villanelle's been enacting scenes from her favourite movies, trying to get Eve to play along. At first she resisted, then she kind of got into it, and now she thinks they make a good duo, they have good chemistry, and she thinks they could've been acclaimed scene partners in another life. They have covered a number of classic scenes from _Dirty Harry_ to _Young Frankenstein_ to _The Exorcist_ to _The Wizard of Oz_ to _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_. They always stay away from the romantic ones....and the shower stabbing scene from _Psycho_...for obvious reasons.

They've been sleeping together now, _just_ sleeping. Villanelle seems to be able to control herself enough not to try anything again. Or perhaps she's simply afraid of being tossed in the ocean. Whatever the reason, Eve's enjoying her proximity. It's nice to have someone to sleep with again after nearly a year of empty space. Villanelle has a habit of speaking in her sleep, usually in Russian, sometimes French, and once in awhile English. Eve's not sure if Villanelle is aware she's doing this or not. The little she was able to understand held no significance to her, and Eve's a little disappointed that she can't get a satisfying peek into the mysterious, unguarded workings of Villanelle's mind.

*

They have to go to shore to pick up more supplies, to refuel, so they dock at a small port in Northern Russia.

And that's when Villanelle disappears.

At first she worries that Powell has gotten to her, but when Konstantin doesn't seem similarly concerned, she realizes the truth.

That Villanelle just left in the night without a word to anyone.

She can't believe Villanelle would just leave them, would leave _her_ , without any kind of warning.

“Where do you think she's gone?” she asks Konstantin over a breakfast of fresh sausage and eggs. She's not feeling that hungry though and is mostly just pushing the food around on her plate.

He looks at her steadfastly for a moment. “Villanelle has certain...appetites, Eve.”

She looks up, takes a second to respond. “You think she went out to kill someone?” She swallows. “Or to fuck them?”

“Could be both,” he answers her gravely. “Hopefully not in that order,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood.

She doesn't take the bait.

And she's not upset. Not really. She's just a bit surprised. She thought they were finally on their way to having some kind of relationship. But apparently Villanelle didn't feel the same way that she did. If she stabs more forcefully at her sausage than is necessary, Konstantin makes no comment.

Maybe a minute passes by. “Do you think she's coming back?”

“It is probably for the best that she doesn't, Eve. I think she was very close to killing everyone onboard.”

Honestly, Eve hadn't gotten that impression at all. If anything Villanelle had seemed to have calmed down and almost embraced the seafaring life, boring as it may be. Then again, what did she know? Konstantin had known Villanelle for a lot longer and could recognize her tells at a glance.

“Then I'm not going back on either.”

Konstantin stops chewing, then swallows the bite. “That is not wise, Eve. You are still recovering and Powell is still at large.”

“I _know_ that. Don't you think I _know_ that? It could be weeks, _months_ before your contact finds him. _If_ he ever does.”

She had asked him if some more of his old Russian Intelligence buddies could help them speed up the process, but he refused to involve any more of them in this matter, claiming they wouldn't know anything anyway. Or worse, that they couldn't be trusted. As for Carolyn, well, she had apparently already done as much as she could unofficially safehousing Eve's people. Still, unwanted questions were being asked on a daily basis by a shady couple of individuals, and to involve Carolyn anymore would be extremely foolhardy.

She still didn't really get his relationship with Carolyn and he wasn't opening up either. She figured that maybe certain doors were better left unopened. Which was kind of how she was feeling about Villanelle right now. Not for the first time.

“You need to have patience.”

“Not my strong suit.”

He contemplates her for a few moments. “You know, you are very alike now that I think about it.”

“Who? Me and Oksana?”

Konstantin nods. “You are both incredibly driven and stubborn and must always get your way. Incapable of compromising for anything less than you think you deserve.”

She doesn't respond. He sighs.

“I am not going to stop you from leaving. Your life is your own. To do with as you please.” He stands up to clear his plate. “You've got an hour to decide and then I'm heading back out.”

Vainly, she calls Villanelle. She hadn't expected an answer, but she had hoped. In a sudden fit of rage she tosses her phone into the ocean, never to be heard from again.

Then when the hour expires, she gets back on the damn boat.

 

 

*

 

Two more months pass by and tonight she's stargazing with Konstantin. She did this a few times with Villanelle as well, side by side, hands brushing occasionally, soft smiles shared. It was the most romantic thing she had done in quite awhile.

This was far from that.

With Konstantin she's pestering him about Powell once more. She's a woman obsessed. She _has_ to end this once and for all. She _needs_ to soon before she goes insane.

“Powell can't have disappeared off the face of the-” She blinks, bolting into a sitting position. “But what if he _did_!?”

“What if he did, _what_ , Eve?”

“What if he's up there, right now!” she exclaims pointing to the sky.

Konstantin looks at her and then bursts into his abrupt gunfire laughter. “He's not in _space_ , Eve.”

“How do you know?!” she says, getting excited now by her own brilliance. She hops to her feet and starts pacing around. She counts on her fingers. “He's rich enough, connected enough, and if he feared for his life enough...what better place to go! I mean, think about it... Kenny couldn't find him either. Kenny can find anyone! The only explanation is that he was looking in the wrong place!”

“He's not in space,” reiterates Konstantin. “And even if he _was_ up there...what good does that do us? We can't get to him there.”

Shit. He was right. All of her moxie evaporates on the spot.

She hunches over the railing, sighs deeply.

And that's when she notices the boat headed towards them. It's like a torpedo, moving so fast that it seems to barely touch the water, and for a second she actually thinks it _is_ one and freaks out that they're about to be blown to smithereens.

“Konstantin!” she calls instead. “We've got company!”

He jumps to his feet and grabs the Kalashnikov that's resting beside the steering wheel. He hands her a Ruger revolver. Not a lot of ammo, but a lot of stopping power.

The Kalashnikov has been outfitted with a scope and night vision. Konstantin peers through both as he lines up the target. The boat keeps getting closer and closer though, and he's not taking the shot.

“What are you _doing_?!” she cries, this time literally freaking out. “He found us! They're gonna kill us!”

Konstantin lowers the rifle. “No, they are not.”

Then he just stands there solemnly until the flash of white begins to slow and the sleek vessel eases to a stop right beside them, effortless, the work of a well skilled hand.

She wonders if Konstantin has turned on her, if she's about to be murdered in exchange for his own freedom from this hellhole. Eve keeps the revolver trained on the dark figure now emerging from the boat.

She watches in disbelief as Konstantin helps the person gain access to their boat by lowering the rope ladder. She watches in disbelief as they hug one another. She watches in disbelief as Villanelle looks at her and says, “When are you going to stop pointing guns in my face, Eve?”

Eve drops the gun and runs straight at her. Villanelle's smirk disappears once she realizes she isn't about to receive another warm welcome. She braces for impact, but Eve stops just short of barreling into her and instead tries to punch her across the face as hard as she can, but Villanelle blocks the move by dodging and grabbing her arm under her armpit, locking it in place. Eve tries to hit her with her other hand, but she is similarly disarmed.

“Stop that,” says Villanelle calmly.

And this more than anything else infuriates her to the point that she headbutts Villanelle in the face. She succeeds in releasing herself...and also in giving herself some blinding pain. Villanelle just grunts in pain and annoyance, holding the spot between her eyes. Eve staggers back and nearly falls over, but Villanelle shoots out her other hand and steadies her.

“Are you finished now?” she grimaces.

Eve sucker punches her in the side, and when Villanelle lets go of her, Eve goes low and sweeps Villanelle's legs out from under her. She falls flat on her back, and it sounds like it hurts. While she's momentarily incapacitated, Eve straddles her and pins her hands above her head.

Dazed and confused, Villanelle looks up at her.

“Konstantin has taught you how to fight, hasn't he?”

Villanelle sounds irritated. However, she's looking at Eve like she's a revelation and Eve suddenly can't bring herself to inflict further damage. She doesn't let go though. She doesn't say anything either. She doesn't know what to say. Everything she thought she'd say if she ever saw Villanelle again has died on her lips.

“Did you have fun... _playing_ with everyone?”

Villanelle blinks in confusion. Then she laughs. “Is _that_ what you think I was doing all this time, Eve? No wonder you are so mad.”

“So, you _weren't_ sleeping with everyone in sight?” she questions, taken aback. Her anger dissipates momentarily, but only slightly.

“I should hope not, Eve, I'm not a pedophile.”

Eve grits her teeth. “You _know_ what I mean.”

Villanelle considers her for a moment. “Yes, I slept with some people. But I was thinking of you each time.”

She purses her lips. “Is that supposed to make me _feel_ better?”

“Doesn't it?” says Villanelle raising her eyebrows...and her hips.

“A little,” she mutters begrudgingly.

Villanelle seems pleased, like everything is fine now. Eve gets even angrier.

“Now, are you going to release me?”

“Not until I get some answers. What were you doing?”

“I was looking for Powell, obviously.”

“Obviously? Why, obviously?!” she half shrieks. “You didn't say a damn thing! You just left!”

“I didn't say anything because I knew you would try to stop me.”

“Oh, yeah, like _I_ could've stopped you from going. You don't give a shit about me. Not really.”

Villanelle looks at her. “I care about you, Eve.”

“No, you don't. If you did, you would've left a note. Or called. Or _something_.”

Villanelle appears to be contemplating her next move, Eve can practically see the gears turning in her callous mind.

“You're right. I should have done that. I'm sorry. Will you let go now?”

“You're just saying that because you think it's what I want to hear!”

“Isn't it?” she quirks a brow...and her hips.

“Would you _stop_ doing that?!” she snarls.

“Doing _what_ , Eve?”

“That _thing_ with your hips.”

“ _This_ thing,” says Villanelle, raising her pelvis into her for a third time.

Eve's starting to get distracted which is the clear goal here. Well two could play at that game. She leans over Villanelle, appears to be going for a kiss, but stops just short. She's amused when Villanelle's eyes flutter back open and she pouts at not getting her way.

“You are very mean.”

“And you still haven't answered all of my questions.”

“What else did you want to know?” grumbles Villanelle.

“You said you were looking for Powell...well, did you find him?”

Villanelle takes her sweet time answering. “Yes.”

“You _did_ find him?”

“That's what I just said, didn't I?” chuckles Villanelle.

“And you're _not_ messing with me?”

“I would never dream of such a thing, Eve.”

“Dick.”

For some strange reason Villanelle's face softens at the word. Eve has noticed this in the past, but she still doesn't understand the reaction.

“Is he dead?” she asks.

“Not yet. I'm going to go kill him right now. That's why I'm here. I thought you might want to join me.”

“You thought I might want to join you in murdering someone?”

“Don't you?”

The fact that Eve even has to _think_ about this should be horribly alarming to her, but it's not.

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yes, let's go.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I had thought to use song titles/lyrics as the chapter titles muuuuch earlier...but it's better late than never, amirite?
> 
> It's totally believable that V could find them after months of separation in the middle of the fucking ocean. I'm just picturing the fucking deluminator thing from Harry Potter...except in this case V just followed her heart or some shit. XD Okay, maybe she did have some way of contacting K and getting their position...or she left some kind of tracker behind before she left. Just...don't question it too much. :p


	16. The Lions Aren't Sleeping Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saw Janelle Monae last night. She's quite the character, not unlike V's pussy. Pussy riot. Pussy power. I dunno. I'm tired.
> 
> This is the chapter I'm least sure about in this entire fic...so take it with a grain of salt I guess.

She tells herself that she's only agreeing to this because she doesn't want Villanelle to just disappear out of her life again...but deep down she knows there's more to it than that. She's wanted to watch Villanelle in action for a very long time now. The killings at the gala were all either done by the time she came across the bodies, or over so quickly that she couldn't enjoy them.

Enjoy was the wrong word. _Appreciate_. Yes, that sounded much better.

She gets off Villanelle, and Villanelle almost seems disappointed. Eve's not in the mood to give her anything she might want right now. She doesn't deserve it.

Villanelle holds her hand out to her at the bottom of the rope ladder, but Eve refuses it...and nearly falls into the ocean as a result. She avoids Villanelle's no doubt amused eye, and gets into the speedboat.

She looks up, expecting Konstantin to be following, but he isn't. He's just standing there silently, watching them. “You aren't coming?”

He shakes his head. “I'm not leaving my boat out here, Eve. And I can't keep up with Villanelle's.”

“Will I see you again?”

It's kind of weird having this conversation with him, like they are a thing. It's just...he's the only human being she's had any contact with for so long that she kind of feels like she's betraying him right now by taking off with Villanelle. That, and she's come to think of him as a friend. Much more so than Villanelle. He might not have been nearly as much fun but at least Konstantin was reliable.

“Of course.” And then his face lightens. “Mischa will want to visit.”

“Well, I look forward to that,” she smiles. “Прощай, Konstantin.”

“Be careful,” he replies back in Russian. He looks to Villanelle. “And watch out for that one.” He looks back to her. “Do you still remember how to contact me?”

It's been awhile since they went over the procedure for this, but she thinks it's still fully there.

“да.»

«Хорошо. If you get into any trouble. Don't hesitate to do so.”

“I won't.”

They share one last long look and then she looks back to Villanelle who was watching them closely, obviously able to understand everything. Whatever she is thinking or feeling is unknown.

Villanelle detaches the boat and starts up the motor again, easing them away from the larger vessel.

“You may want to sit down, or hold onto something, Eve.”

And Villanelle looks down at herself suggestively, like Eve should hold on to _her_.

True, Villanelle is looking very sleek and sexy right now in her all black ensemble, kind of like how Eve imagines black ops agents to dress when they're doing a strictly off the books, can't hold my country liable, job. And true, Eve's anger has subdued somewhat and she's feeling some familiar stirrings down there. But an alluring outfit was far from excusing Villanelle's behaviour and ditching her for two months straight on a boat with a man she barely knew, stories notwithstanding.

She sits down instead, as far back as she can go, and Villanelle huffs silently.

Within a few seconds they are back up to full speed, blasting along the water far faster than should be legally allowed. Even while sitting, she feels the need to hold onto the rails. Her teeth feel like they're gonna rattle out of her skull and the wind feels like it's gonna slice her skin open at any moment.

“How did you find him anyway?”

Villanelle doesn't hear her so she yells louder.

“What?” yells Villanelle from the captain's seat.

Eve grumbles to herself and then carefully makes her way over to Villanelle's side. Vaguely, she wonders if Villanelle _actually_ couldn't hear her or if she was just pretending so that Eve would _have_ to get closer.

“I said... _how_ did you find Powell?”

“I... _persuaded_ some people to talk. The trouble was in finding the _right_ people.”

“You mean...you _tortured_ them?”

And Villanelle gives her a non-committal look which is all the confirmation Eve needs. And she won't say she's disappointed in Villanelle for doing what she did, something _had_ to give sooner or later, but she's a bit... _uneasy_ about the whole idea. As if, murdering people on a regular basis was perfectly fine behaviour for Eve now.

“How do you know the information is good? Torture almost _never_ produces accurate information.”

“You are an expert on torture now _too_ , Eve?” deflects Villanelle. “I'm impressed. Fighting _and_ Russian. You can soon become Konstantin's newest pupil.”

Seriously? Was Villanelle jealous or something? Eve says as much.

Villanelle scoffs. “He can train whoever he'd like. He's not my keeper any more.”

“You are _definitely_ jealous,” says Eve smugly. “You think I've replaced you. Well, serves you right for leaving me behind.”

Eve figures she's also sore about the fact that the parrot likes her too.

Villanelle looks over at her again. “You would have slowed me down.”

She said something similar about Bill once upon a time. That was so long ago though that it felt like a different lifetime altogether. Eve wonders if she could ever even go back to the life she used to live. She hasn't had any contact with Niko, Keiko, Kenny or Elena in months, not since they were taken to their respective safehouses. They probably all hated her now, especially Keiko, who no doubt has been filled in on the relevant details. If she had just listened to Kenny and not gone to the gala, would everything be different? Better? Exactly the same? Would she still be at her crappy 9-5 job, awkwardly avoiding Keiko and drinking herself into an alcoholic stupor every night? Was that better or worse than her current state of affairs?

She's gone down a path few would follow. That few would understand.

And Eve's strangely okay with that.

It's almost like from the very beginning, all roads led to Villanelle. And she could fight it all she wanted, but in the end, she would always end up in the same place. By her side. And she was so tired of fighting this darkness that's been suppressed within her for her entire life. Beat down by societal expectations year after year. She's done hiding from it. She's finally ready to step out into the night and embrace it like an old friend.

Finally, she understands why Villanelle was so obsessed with her.

Why they were _both_ so obsessed with each other.

Villanelle can spot a predator a mile away.

And _she's_ a predator too.

“Why are you staring at me like that, Eve? Do you have indigestion or something?”

 

 

*

 

Villanelle takes the guards out with relative ease, systematically slashing their throats before they can alert anyone to their presence. Unlike the gala, she's avoided the spray by attacking from behind each time.

Eve follows in a kind of trance, captivated. There's a certain elegance and grace to Villanelle's movements, to the unhurried nature of her kills. She wonders if she could ever murder the same way. At the very least, she doesn't think she'd freak out like she did when she stabbed Villanelle.

Not anymore.

They make their way to the bedroom where their prey lies dormant.

He's with someone else, a pretty young thing, and that meant _she_ would have to die too.

Villanelle looks over at Eve, as if waiting for her to protest this necessary, but regrettable action. Eve just nods her acceptance of the situation and Villanelle goes to slit her throat too, like she did to Kasia Molkovska in the hospital an eon ago.

Villanelle places a hand over her mouth, pulls her out of the bed, and does it before she even really registers what's going on. Blood sprays across the wall as she takes her last silent and futile gasps for air. Unlike with the guards, Villanelle holds her face in the last moments, after the blood stops squirting, peering deep into her eyes.

Villanelle's got this electric look about her, like she's euphoric, having the time of her life.

Eve desperately wants to know what that feels like too.

So when Villanelle goes for Powell, Eve stops her with a hand to her knife wielding wrist.

Villanelle looks at her for a long time and then hands the knife over.

Eve shakes her head, reaches for the gun in the holster instead.

“Are you sure?” Villanelle whispers to her. “Once you do this...there's no going back, Eve.”

“I'm sure.”

“Okay. Just don't miss.”

“Dick.”

But their talking was enough to rouse Powell, and he's staring at them in mute horror, at what they did to his lover and he pulls the sheets up higher over his naked torso as if that will protect him from what's about to happen.

Eve points the gun at him.

“Now hold on,” says Powell, when he finds his voice. It's much higher than usual. “You can't just kill me in cold blood. I'm unarmed. I'm... _naked_ for Christ's sake.”

“I was unarmed when you shot me,” she reminds him, flashing back to the moment, letting the anger build within her.

“Well, yes...but-”

“That's enough for me.”

She primes the pistol.

“The police!” he exclaims.

“Don't care for their music,” she answers and starts to apply pressure to the trigger.

“No, I mean... _take_ me to the police!”

“Nah, think I'll pass. Oh and by the way, your TV shows suck.”

“Wait!”

There's a muffled bang about the loudness of a cough, Powell stares at her wide eyed. She's not sure who is more surprised right now that she actually did it.

Holy shit, she thinks internally. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit...

Externally, she keeps a cool and calm demeanor.

Blood is seeping from the fatal wound in his chest, the same place he shot Villanelle. It won't be long now. She moves in closer and leans over, taking his face in her hands like Villanelle did with the woman. She doesn't get what's so special about this at first, but then that mysterious spark of life of unknown origin just extinguishes, just dissolves into nothingness, and realizing she has the power to destroy something evolution spent millions, billions of years crafting and perfecting is an exhilarating thought.

She gets this sudden rush of adrenalin, far more than she got just from pulling the trigger, and her heart feels like it's going to literally explode, all of her senses seem heightened, her nerve endings alight and on fire.

She figures it's kind of like what Heroin feels like while skydiving.

When it's finally over, everything around her is still and silent.

Everything within her is chaos and ecstasy.

She turns back to Villanelle, who has this strange look across her face. It's close to her undecipherable one, but not quite. There's something else there too that can only be described with one word.

Hunger.

She's got the predators gaze on Eve now, her eyes are black orbs, her body tense and coiled like a vipers, ready to spring into action at any moment.

Eve figures she probably looks about the same. Her very soul (or what's left of it) feels on fire. Eve's never wanted anyone or anything as badly as she wants Villanelle right now.

They come together then like a crash of waves, like a tsunami, pushing and pulling, ripping and tearing at their clothes. Her former skin, her former self, shed with them.

Hands are roaming and grabbing everywhere and it's not long before Villanelle's got her pushed against the wall, and she's got her legs wrapped around her back. She's grinding into her stomach, and the friction is delicious, but even in her heightened state, it's not enough. She needs to feel Villanelle inside her, all around her. She needs to be claimed and consumed.

“The bed,” she gasps inbetween furious assaults of Villanelle's mouth.

Without a word, Villanelle carries her over there and tosses her down, right beside Powell, who is still bleeding out here. She kicks him off the bed fully with a thud, the blood soaked blankets go with him, and then Villanelle takes his place.

Eve pounces on her before she can take total control of the situation again, straddling and pinning her arms to her sides. She manages to briefly nip and suckle at Villanelle's long obsessed over tits until the tables are turned.

Villanelle doesn't take kindly to not being able to touch her, so she breaks free (seemingly effortlessly) and flips their positions. And somewhere in the back of her hazy and twisted mind, Eve realizes that Villanelle was only ever humouring her on the boat. Which...duh.

It doesn't matter though because this is exactly what she wanted. The weight and warmth and feel of Villanelle's body pressed fully against hers is triggering that desperate, primal need again.

“I need you...inside.”

Villanelle makes a strange sound in the back of her throat, almost like a growl. She presses into Eve with her strong and sure fingers and quickly builds up a furious momentum like the speedboat. Eve isn't surprised that it feels so good. She knew it would. Villanelle has had too many lovers _not_ to be good at this.

When Villanelle moves down and adds her insistent mouth too, Eve thinks she's going to short circuit with pleasure, with everything swirling and storming around in her. She's never felt anything this intense before. Her past lovers were pale reflections in comparison. Shortly after this addition she orgasms, flung headfirst into the sun, its millions of nuclear reactions exploding in and all around her at once.

She feels like she's about to rip apart, to disintegrate into nothingness, just as the spark of life did from Powell's eyes. Just when she thinks she can't take anymore, the explosive sensation begins to peter out and she manages to stay all in one piece. Manages not to pass out.

Villanelle climbs her body again, kisses her scar, kisses _her_ with a burning desire. She tastes herself, not for the first time, but certainly with the most enthusiasm. While she recovers, Villanelle kisses, suckles and nips her none too gently everywhere she can reach. Her neck, her tits...her feet. Villanelle seems to spend a lot of time on those.

Vaguely, she's wondering if Villanelle actually _does_ have a fetish.

This more than anything snaps Eve to the present. She pulls Villanelle back up her body, with the apparent intent of kissing her some more. Instead she hooks a leg around Villanelle and flips them around again.

“You aren't going to behave, are you?” murmurs Villanelle, in a very low, very sexy register. If Eve thought her eyes were black before, they're demonic now.

“Not one bit.”

“Good.”

 

*

 

“Wow, that was...” says Villanelle wearily, utterly spent. Which for her was saying something. She never seemed to run out of energy. She was like the fucking Energizer Bunny. Or the Energizer fuck Bunny.

“I know.”

Villanelle cocks one bleary eye in her direction. “That bit near the end...where did you learn that?”

“My college boyfriend, Harry.”

The one good thing that came out of that short lived relationship.

“Well, tell Harry thank you for me if you ever see him again.”

Eve giggles and turns on her side towards Villlanelle. “God, we should have done this a long time ago.”

“Yes, we should have.” Villanelle looks at her seriously. “Would you like to again?”

She just stares at Villanelle and then they chuckle together. No one would be moving much for a very long time.

Curling into Villanelle's side now that they've cooled off a bit is about the most effort she's willing to expend.

Villanelle kisses the top of her head and then starts stroking her arm.

Eve traces Villanelle's scar, the embodiment of the pain and hurt she inflicted so long ago. She thinks about apologizing again, but figures it won't be appreciated, will ruin the moment, so instead she keeps quiet.

They remain in companionable silence for awhile, even sighing in contented harmony.

“Now what?” she asks.

Villanelle looks down at her. Eve knows she understands her meaning. All that's left to see is if Villanelle will answer seriously or not.

“Now I open up my ice cream parlor...and you can go do whatever you'd like. Maybe a hair salon? You can call it...Yang's Bangs.”

Eve stifles the groan and slaps the part of her ass she can reach.

Villanelle jolts a little and then laughs. “What? Don't you like the name?”

“Dick.”

Villanelle gives her that fond look again. And Eve suddenly has to know why it's always triggered by that word.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Give me that look every time I say that.”

She expects Villanelle to close up, to make another joke. But Villanelle only hesitates a moment before replying, “Because I love you, Eve.”

Somehow Eve already knew this was the reason, but now that it's been confirmed, now that it's out in the open, they actually have to deal with it.

“I love you too, Oksana,” she replies, feeling a little stupid when she blushes a bit. It's no wonder, her heart is taking off like it did when she used to talk to her first serious crush in grade school.

She expects them to share a kiss or intimate look but instead Villanelle says, “How long?”

“What?”

“How long have you loved me? Was it just now after I did that thing with your ass?”

Eve hits _her_ ass playfully again.

“Actually, I think it was when you wore that really tight t-shirt without a bra on.”

Villanelle looks at her, face animated. “You are very obsessed with my tits, Eve. I mean...I don't blame you, they are spectacular, but maybe tone it down a bit before your thirst frightens the children?”

Eve rolls her eyes. “You're one to talk. You were _really_ into my feet back there.”

“No, I wasn't,” scowls Villanelle.

“Yes, you were.”

“No, I _wasn't_.”

And Eve knows this will go around and around ad nauseam, so there's no point.

“When did you first know you loved me?”

“For me it was when I saw you in the bathroom.”

Eve knows she means the hospital bathroom.

“I didn't realize it at the time of course, but thinking back on it now, I think it really was the first moment our eyes connected. I didn't think stuff like that actually happened except in the movies. But then I met you, and everything changed.” She strokes the side of Eve's face, keeps eye contact. “You made me believe in love at first sight.”

She can't believe that Villanelle's actually being serious and allowing a serious conversation about feelings to take place. She figures Villanelle is probably just messing with her, pretending to be genuine. She can't possibly mean what she's just said, can she?

Eve has a very good bullshit detector though, and it's not blaring the alarms.

Then the other shoe drops.

“So, I win.”

“What?”

“I loved you for longer. I win.”

“That's ridiculous, Oksana. It's not a competition.”

“ _Everything's_ a competition, Eve.”

And then they both try to top the other one, but neither one will relent, and they give up, exhausted, and settle back into each others arms and drift off to sleep.

When she wakes, Villanelle's gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with what Eve might feel looking into a kills eyes. I don't think she's psychopathic by this point in the story. She clearly has those tendencies, but she still has some kind of moral code, and understands right from wrong. Whereas V possibly can't distinguish the two...or doesn't care to. I wasn't even sure E would feel anything at all, but I wanted her to feel something other than disgust. So I dunno. I possibly described it too closely to how V would experience it. But then again, I don't really know what that is like for her either. So I'm basically just making shit up since I don't have experience killing people myself. xD
> 
> I think I said at one point that in order for them to be together long term, one of them (Eve) would have to drastically change and that I didn't like that idea...but the more I wrote this, the more I was 'strangely okay with it'. If they ever go through with Eve's transformation to this extent it won't happen till the very end of the series. At least, that'd be my guess. And with any luck we'll be getting many seasons to come.
> 
> Anyway, I probably went too far with this...but it's done. You're allowed to not like it. I don't fully like it myself.


	17. Stop! In the Name of Love!

 

When she wakes, Villanelle's gone.

And by the cold feel of the side of the bed, awhile ago.

She can't believe she was so stupid to believe Villanelle would stick around once she finally got what she wanted. Eve must have read her wrong the previous night...the previous morning. It was a sobering realization, not unlike the dead people on either side of the bed that were beginning to turn bad.

One of which she murdered.

The reality of her situation strikes her with a vengeance and she moves to the end of the bed as quickly as she can and hurls.

Then she scrambles to get her clothes, to get the hell out of there, but they're nowhere to be found.

It dawns on her then that Villanelle has just set her up. That she's probably called the cops and they're surrounding the building even as she thinks it.

Of course Villanelle never actually forgave her for the stabbing.

Of course she didn't actually love her.

Villanelle wasn't capable of that.

Frantically looking for a new set of clothes in the dresser, she jumps out of her skin when a Canadian man yells, “Freeze! Hands where I can see them!”

Eve raises her hands above her head, resigned to her fate.

“Good. Now back up slowly towards me.”

She does as she is told.

“Stop!”

The sound of footsteps approaching, and then someone grabbing her wrist and pulling it behind her back. Cold metal presses against her flesh as the handcuff clicks into place.

“You're shaking,” says the man. “Just the way I like them.”

Goosebumps erupt everywhere, and she whirls around to attack him before he can fully shackle her. He seems to have anticipated the move though, dodges behind her, and slams her face first into the wall. He's yanking her arm back...pulling...pulling...

“Did you really think you could get the drop on me, Eve?”

Blood is pounding and rushing so hard in her ears that she doesn't immediately register the words or the voice or the fact that they know her name.

Then it hits her.

“Oksana?”

Laughter erupts at the same moment the pressure on her arm dissolves.

She turns around to glare at her. To shove her in the chest. “You scared me half to death you asshole! Don't you _ever_ do something like that again or I'll...I'll...”

“You'll what, Eve?” asks Villanelle, amused. “Kill me?”

“Yes!”

And then because she realizes that she _is_ capable of murder, the threat isn't completely empty anymore. It's a sickening thought, but she doesn't feel the need to vomit again.

“Where the hell did you go anyway?” she grumbles as Villanelle undoes the handcuff.

Villanelle is dressed in a new set of expensive designer looking clothes. A mosaic patterned black and green suit.

“Shopping. Obviously.”

She cocks her head towards the threshold to the bedroom, where another shopping bag resides. “I got you something too.”

“What was wrong with our _old_ clothes?”

As nice as the suit is, she was pretty into the whole black ops thing. Though perhaps it wasn't ideal for the light of day.

Villanelle raises both eyebrows. “We destroyed them, Eve. They weren't wearable anymore.”

“Oh,” she says, feeling both embarrassed and oddly pleased with herself.

“As much as I enjoy looking at you like this,” says Villanelle gazing up and down her body, at the remnants of their volcanic fucking, “you need to get dressed now. We've lingered here too long as it is.”

Eve goes to the bag and starts putting the stuff on. As she steps into the fancy purple silk pants she becomes conscious of the fact that she's sore all over...particularly down there. Hardly surprising. She's never fucked, or _been_ fucked like that before. She doubts it will always be like that with Villanelle...she hopes it isn't. She won't be able to survive an onslaught like that on a daily basis. Assuming of course they continue this...whatever this is...beyond last night.

She notices Villanelle watching her with a smug smirk across her face, as if she can tell just how sore Eve is right now. Eve gave as good as she got though, so she knows Villanelle hasn't fully recovered either.

She finishes putting on the suit and like always, it fits her perfectly, like it was tailored. Villanelle's eye for detail is remarkable and continues to impress Eve to this day.

She expects Villanelle to still be watching her so she's surprised to smell gasoline and find Villanelle pouring some on the bed and the bodies. The whole room really.

“Is that really necessary?” she asks it almost as if she is disappointed that her first kill will be destroyed. That no team of forensics experts will come in here and be able to fully appreciate her handiwork. 

“Our biological materials are all over this room. So, yes, Eve, it's necessary.”

Again, she's embarrassed but oddly pleased with herself.

Villanelle makes her way over to her, shaking out the last drops of accelerant.

She pulls out a lighter. “Would you like to do the honours?”

Eve takes the lighter and flicks it on after the second try. She hesitates to throw the flame.

It's almost as if Villanelle can read her mind. “There can be others...if you'd like.”

She looks to her. She doesn't know how to respond. She doesn't know what she wants from this point forth. The only thing she's sure about is Villanelle. And if this _has_ to be done to protect her, to protect both of them, then so be it.

Eve tosses the lighter onto the bed. It erupts into flames immediately, nearly an explosion really.

She's fixated for a moment, then turns to Villanelle and says, “Let's go.”

 

*

 

It's a few days later in a random Los Angeles hotel room, and they've just fucked each others brains out again, albeit less frantically and violently. Eve wouldn't exactly classify it as love making either. It was something in between. Just like _she_ was something in between. Not quite a psychopath. Not quite normal either. A hybrid human of dubious moral standards. An other.

Villanelle's splayed across Eve's stomach, face down. Eve's running her fingers through her hair. It's the first time she's actually done this, and she has to say, Villanelle's hair is silky smooth and everything Eve wants on a day her own voluminous curls won't behave.

She doesn't want to ruin the pleasant mood but she also can't hold her tongue any longer.

“If you _ever_ leave me again without explanation, it's over.”

Three strikes and you're out. She didn't care how good the sex was. If Villanelle can't give her this basic decency at least, there was no hope for any kind of long term relationship.

“When do you want to go to the surgeon?

“What?”

“You want to be joined at the hip, don't you?”

“Can you be _serious_ for just one minute?”

“Yes, but it's no fun.”

Eve shoves her shoulder and Villanelle flops around to look up at her.

“Yes, _okay_ , Eve,” says Villanelle, rolling her eyes. “I promise I won't ditch you again without letting you know _why_ fi rst.” She smirks. “I can also send you a very nice postcard if you'd like.”

Doing her best not to smile, Eve shoves her again. Villanelle always found the loopholes to everything. That's why she was a master manipulator.

“God, you're an asshole. Why do I love you again?”

“Because I have such amazing, perky tits,” replies Villanelle, squeezing them together for Eve's benefit.

She actually gets distracted for a moment which just makes Villanelle laugh.

Eve clenches her jaw. Then relaxes. She strokes the side of Villanelle's face, cups her chin in her hand. Makes sure they have eye contact for this next bit.

“You aren't going to sleep with other people, are you?”

Villanelle doesn't immediately respond and Eve's heart sinks. “Only once I get bored of you.” She pauses dramatically. “So probably next week.”

Eve's face falls and Villanelle squeezes her hand. “I'm joking.”

“Are you?” she says, spirits continuing to drop.

Now that all of the excitement was over and done with, now that they didn't have any common goals or people to kill, now that they were aimless, would they _really_ be able to keep this thing going for much longer? Or would Villanelle's eyes do more than stray at all of the gorgeous people here in this city? Villanelle could easily bag a celebrity if she wanted to. Eve was sure of that. And considering how much Villanelle liked Hollywood films, it would probably be a dream come true to sleep with Michelle Rodriguez or Leonardo DiCaprio. Or hell, even Meryl Streep.

“I think I am joking. I've never met anyone like you before, Eve.” She takes Eve's hand from her face and kisses it. “I don't think I will be bored for a long time to come. In fact...”

Villanelle gets off the bed, goes over to her bag and takes something out which she keeps hidden behind her back. Then she comes around the other side of the bed and kneels before her. Eve's frozen in shock, she can't believe this is really happening.

“Eve Yang, would you do me the honour of...” Villanelle removes her hand from behind her back, revealing two sets of tickets, “going to the movies with me?”

She blinks, her brain unfreezes. She _knew_ Villanelle was just messing with her...but part of her had hoped... 

Villanelle laughs. “Your face! I got you so good!”

Eve feels like crying then, she can't help it. Despite what Villanelle said, she can't see her sticking around for much longer. And once Villanelle left her, she'd have well and truly, nothing.

“Okay, you can laugh now _too_ , Eve,” says Villanelle, apparently confused by her non-reaction.

The tears start falling and Villanelle frowns. “Why are you crying? I heard this movie was quite good.”

Eve turns away from her then, faces the wall. The bed shifts as Villanelle joins her, hugs her from behind. Villanelle kisses the top of her shoulder.

“We don't have to go to that one. I can pick another.”

And seriously? How was someone so intelligent _this_ dense?

She flips around so that they are nose to nose. “I don't care about the stupid _movie_ , Oksana!”

Villanelle blinks in surprise. Then she raises both eyebrows. “Wait...don't tell me...you actually _wanted_ me to propose right then?”

Eve fully expects her to start laughing in her face. Instead she just observes her quietly. “I've thought about it you know.”

“You have?”

Villanelle nods, strokes her hair. “I had a whole romantic day of activities planned out at one point...culminating in stargazing.”

Which meant that the thought had crossed Villanelle's mind while they were still on the boat...and hadn't even slept together yet. If she's being truthful, which Eve believes she is, that spoke volumes about Villanelle's intentions with her. She's beginning to feel a little bit better...but now she's curious about something else. It's probably a very bad idea to bring this up, but she's never been very good at listening to her better impulses.

“Oksana...did you ever plan to propose to Anna?” She hesitates. “Is that why you killed her husband?”

Or worse...was _that_ the proposal in and of itself? Eve recalls that Villanelle had gotten balloons and a cake and everything...and if Anna hadn't rejected her first...would she have bent the knee?

“Yes. To both.”

If Villanelle is upset with her at all, Eve can't tell. She wonders if Villanelle's epically failed romance with Anna was the real reason she never really stuck with anyone for more than a night or two (minus Nadia). She wonders if Villanelle's need to be loved and accepted for who she is places Eve on the same pedestal that Anna was on. She wonders if that's actually a good place to be. She wonders if Villanelle's fixation is now solely focused on her, and if Villanelle will now write her a shit ton of love letters...

“Good thing I'm not married anymore,” she jokes. And she can't believe she's making jokes about this stuff.

“Yes, that is a good thing,” replies Villanelle absentmindedly.

Eve thinks Villanelle is only half with her now, part of her mind has gone back to the early trauma's of Moscow.

“Hey,” she says, placing a hand to her face again, trying to draw her back to the present, “what time is that movie at?”

Villanelle responds automatically. “Eight.”

“We should probably start getting ready to go soon then.”

“Yes.”

She's gotten robotic now. Lifeless. Eve did that to her. Fucking idiot.

When Eve kisses her and even _that_ doesn't elicit a response, she starts to get worried.

“Oksana, I love you. If you ever propose to me, I'll accept.”

Villanelle's eyes snap back to hers. She sounds almost childlike when she says, “Promise?”

“I promise,” she smiles.

Villanelle's answering smile is breathtaking. She kisses Eve, still smiling, and their teeth bump right away, and they pull away laughing.

Like a switch is flipped, Villanelle becomes serious again, just stares at her, and Eve holds her breath thinking she's going to do it right now.

“Wear the white dress.”

“What?”

“To the movies.”

“Dick.”

Villanelle grins, hops out of the bed. When Eve doesn't immediately follow suit, Villanelle slaps her ass lightly. “Hurry up, Eve, we don't have a lot of time to waste!”

 

*

 

They tell Villanelle that they're all out of her favourite (American) candy bar, _Butterfinger_. Before she can throw a fit...or worse...Eve gives her a kiss and says, “Sorry, baby. I'll make it up to you later.”

And for the first time, Eve's confident there will _be_ a later. Many laters in fact.

Then she holds out her hand, Villanelle takes it, and they head in.

 

*

 

They get kicked out ten minutes later for trying to have sex in the back row.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an amazing final sentence, amirite? 
> 
> I think that's as good a place as any for me to call it quits. Damn, V had to go through an awful lot of shit just to get someone to go to the movies with only for it to be foiled immediately by Odette. XD
> 
> Also, I just thought about how hilarious it would be to have V eat E's cooking and have to pretend it's good and doesn't taste like dog shite. I almost wanted to write something but there isn't actually a storyline there. It's just a funny idea...especially if E gets a weekly meal to make and V has to suffer through it every week. And then one time it's actually good and she's super surprised and relieved but then it turns out E didn't make it...she bought the meal like in Mrs. Doubtfire. XD
> 
> Also...please tell me someone got that Sam Powell, British TV host extraordinaire with the bad haircut was supposed to be a thinly veiled Simon Cowell. Please tell me someone got that or it ruins the joke for me completely...or maybe it makes it 10x funnier. I'm not sure...


	18. The Twilight Zone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise chapter bitches!
> 
> I even surprised myself!

It's been a week, and true to her word, Villanelle hasn't left her yet. Apparently the hours of daily sex were enough to keep her interested in Eve. Eve hasn't fucked this often since she was...well, Villanelle's age. It's enjoyable to say the least, but Eve's not sure she'll be able to keep up with Villanelle's demanding needs in the ensuing weeks...and months to come. The fact that Villanelle liked to stay up all hours of the night, clubbing, was only making matters worse. Partly because Eve can't dance to save her life, and partly because the setting always gives her PTSD over the Bill incident. Eve doesn't dare leave her alone in a pulsing, thriving place like that though, full of young enticing bodies...

Certain she can't stand another night in this fashion, she decides to talk to Villanelle about it over lunch, but before she can, Villanelle presents her with a gift. It's a plain rectangular box, a little longer than her hand, held together with an immaculately done up golden bow.

She puts down her fork and looks to Villanelle, who just smiles at her. It's the kind of smile that tells Eve she's up to no good. Eve stares at the box intensely, as if trying to use her non-existent x-ray vision.

“Aren't you going to open it?” says Villanelle, eyes twinkling mischievously now.

“I feel like it's safer not to,” responds Eve, putting it back down on the table.

Villanelle pouts, leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. “Oh come _on_ , Eve. I went to a lot of trouble to get you this. The least you could do is open it for me.”

Eve eyes her suspiciously. “You promise I'm going to like this?”

“I hope so.”

The untrustworthy smile has returned. Eve thinks of her as two distinct people. Oksana is the caring and lovely side of her, childlike, untainted by her first act of extreme violence. Villanelle is ageless, a malicious sprite intent on as much mischief and mayhem as possible. Most of the time Eve feels like she's dealing with the latter person. This time being no exception.

“Somehow I don't believe you,” she says shrewdly.

Villanelle stands up abruptly, apparently gravely offended. She snatches the gift off the table. “Fine then, Eve, don't open it. See if I care.” She stalks over to the garbage can. Before she can toss it out, Eve stops her.

“Okay, okay, I'll open it. Just...come back here.”

Villanelle comes back and Eve takes the parcel back into her hands. It's too heavy to be jewelry, too small to be clothing. She has literally no idea what it could be. She undoes the bow, lets it fall to the ground. She hesitates to lift up the lid, looks back to Villanelle, who is raptly watching her progress. Eve knows in the pit of her stomach that she's going to regret this, and her mind imagines all manner of horrors about to befall her eyes.

She opens the lid and...promptly drops the gift to the ground too. She jumps out of her seat.

“What the _fuck_ , Oksana?! What the fuck _is_ this?!”

Villanelle looks at her confusedly. “Why are you getting so mad?”

Eve is incensed. “Are you _serious_?! How could you _do_ this?!”

“I really have no idea what you're talking about, Eve,” responds Villanelle, frowning further.

“You fucking _chopped_ it off! You thought I'd _like_ that?!”

There's another moment of incomprehension and then Villanelle bursts into laughter, and continues to laugh for so long that Eve begins to question her own sanity. “Shut up!” she screams.

Finally Villanelle calms down enough to wipe the tears away and say, “I think you should take another look at what I gave you, Eve.”

Still seething, she nevertheless bends over to retrieve the 'gift'. And upon second glance, she instantly realizes her mistake, and instantly feels like a total moron.

It's a dildo. Not someone...meaning Niko's....dick; something that would've been impossible for Villanelle to have retrieved in any case, them being in California right now.

“Oh,” she mutters, flushing crimson.

Villanelle looks at her and grins. “Have you never seen one of those before, Eve?”

“Of course I have, Oksana,” she grumbles, collapsing back into her seat, avoiding eye contact.

“You haven't _used_ one before though, have you?”

“No,” she shakes her head.

“Do you want to?”

Eve hazards a glance upwards to find Villanelle still looking at her with glee...albeit in a more subdued fashion. She's slightly startled. “What, like right now?”

“Now. Tomorrow. Whenever.” Villanelle shrugs. “I'm not picky.”

“Would I have to...uh,” she looks down at the flesh coloured dildo, complete with veins for some reason, “use it myself, or...um...would you...help?”

Villanelle had gifted it to _her_ after all. Did that mean this was a solo venture, where Villanelle played the voyeur?

Eve wasn't a prude but she was vaguely afraid of the thing and potentially having to put on a performance. She had yet to reciprocate the lap dance Villanelle had given her the other day. Her embarrassment was only heightened by the painfully obvious fact that she had never really used sex toys before so didn't really know how this was supposed to work.

Villanelle snorts. “It's part of a strap on, Eve. I'll use it on you the first time, just to show you how it works. Then we'll take things from there.” She shrugs again. “If you want.”

She deliberates this for a bit and then decides what the hell. “In that case, sure.” Villanelle seems rather eager and half gets up out of her chair but Eve stops her with a raised palm. “Not right now, Oksana. There's something else I want to discuss with you.”

**

After she pooh-pooh's the clubbing, things steadily deteriorate between them. Villanelle is constantly brimming with excess energy. If it doesn't get released in some way or other, she becomes very unpleasant to be around, as Eve is well aware of after the godforsaken boat saga. It gets to the point where _Eve_ is the one suggesting bungee jumping...or white water rapids...or hell, skydiving. Anything to keep Villanelle's adrenaline junky side quelled. Anything to keep her satisfied. Anything to keep her, for lack of a better word, _contained_.

And that was all well and good for a time...but then it was straight back to Villanelle's irritable mood, which seemed to be getting fouler with every passing day. They weren't even having sex anymore. It seemed this attempt at normalcy was fast wearing thin, and Eve was afraid once more that Villanelle would simply leave her again in the middle of night.

Desperate to prevent this increasingly inevitable conclusion, she tentatively broaches the topic one evening while Villanelle is absentmindedly throwing knives into the hotel's cupboards. Eve doesn't want to think about how expensive that will be to repair, but it's the least of her worries right now.

It's probably the absolute worst time to do this. It's fitting though. Timing was never Eve's strong suit.

“Oksana...do you need to...kill someone?”

_Shit._

She cringes internally. She hadn't meant to be so blunt right out the gate.

“ _What_?” snaps Villanelle, the latest knife flying errant, smashing into the lamp instead. Shattering it.

_Fuck._

“You've been... _difficult_ lately,” she soldiers onward, putting her foot in her mouth again. Villanelle glares at her. Thankfully there were no more knives on hand. Not that Villanelle needed knives to kill her. “I was wondering if killing someone would help lift your spirits.”

This was a totally normal conversation to be having with your significant other, right?

Villanelle quirks a brow. “You want me to go out and kill someone, Eve?”

“No, I don't _want_ you to,” she answers, exasperated, “but I think you _need_ to.”

Villanelle considers her for a moment, eyes alert and searching. “And you'd be okay with that? With me killing some random person?”

It dawns on Eve then that perhaps Villanelle has been just as anxious as herself not to mess up this thing they had going on. Eve nearly smiles at the thought, true or not.

“I knew what I was getting into when I pursued you. If you need to do this, I won't try to stop you. Just...be careful.”

Her entire demeanor relaxes, becomes more reminiscent of the Villanelle she knows and loves. “Do you want to come with?”

Eve gulps, vividly recalling their last excursion. It was etched into her brain forever. “I think I'll sit this one out.”

“Okay.” And just like that Villanelle springs into action, getting ready with military precision, like she had just been waiting for permission all this time. Eve walks her to the door of their hotel room and gives her a kiss - like Villanelle is her husband and off to work.

Completely normal.

**

It's many hours later before Villanelle returns to her. Before she can ask how it went, Villanelle is on her, pushing her back down onto the bed and fucking her brains out with the strap on. Because that's apparently what they did now after some killing occurred.

**

She checks the news the next day on her phone. She expects to have to search through the news feeds for awhile to find what she's looking for. But it's right there, the top story.

Slowly, she looks up at Villanelle, who has just finished making herself a peach and mango smoothie.

“What?” says Villanelle after taking a sip. “Did you want one too?”

“Oksana... _please_ tell me you didn't kill Charles Bishop.”

“Who?” answers Villanelle cluelessly, a twinkle in her eye.

Briefly, she closes her eyes in an attempt to control herself. “ _Oksana_.”

Villanelle waves her off, the sleeve of her silk housecoat following suit. “Don't worry. He was a very bad man. Did the world a favour.”

“Oksana...you can't just kill _senators_ willy nilly!” she explodes, pounding the table with her fist. “The FBI...the CIA...hell, homeland security  is going to come after you now!”

Villanelle rolls her eyes. “Eve...half of the world's best intelligence operatives have been trying to track me down for years.” She gives her a pointed look. “I hardly think some _American's_ will succeed.”

“Don't get cocky,” she half growls, her frustration mounting. “That's how you get caught. You forget that I lived here for most of my life. I know what the intelligence agencies are like here. They're a lot more dogged than the Europeans...they won't let this go easily.” She's becoming more hysterical by the second. She can't help it. “And they'll use deadly force at the slightest provocation...which we both know, you can't resist!” She jumps out of her seat and grabs a hold of Villanelle's forearms, nearly spilling her drink. “We need to go! Right now!”  
“Calm down, Eve. It's not that big a deal.”

Villanelle's complete unconcern only serves to increase her own hysteria.

“Yes, it is!” she shrieks, to which Villanelle simply stares at her for several seconds with a raised eyebrow. Eve closes her eyes again and forces herself to take a few deep breaths. She takes Villanelle's face in her hands. “I don't want to lose you. I _can't_. We need to go. Today.”

Villanelle looks at her for what feels like forever before finally relenting and ending her suffering. “Okay, we'll go. I'm bored of California anyway.” She pulls away to drink more of her smoothie. Seemingly out of nowhere she adds. “Your mother's still alive right?”

“What?” she says, absolutely lost. This particular change in direction was up there with Villanelle's strangest remarks. Which was saying something.

“You mentioned that your father had passed away and that's why you moved back to England. You didn't say anything about your mother.”

“Yes, she's still alive. Far as I know. We haven't talked in a long time though.”

“Do you want to? Talk to her?” She pauses for dramatic effect. “With me?”

Eve blinks in surprise once she clues into what Villanelle's really after. “You want to meet my mother? My _Korean_ mother?”

“You don't think she'd approve?” smirks Villanelle.

“Not a chance.”

“Because I kill people?”

“Because you're a woman,” she blurts out.

Villanelle laughs.

**

 

It's been nearly a decade since she was last home. Home being Connecticut. In all that time, she's barely spoken to her mother. After her father died, they had a kind of falling out, and when she decided to remain in England after the memorial, and even worse, marry a white man, her mom stopped talking to her altogether. Eve can only imagine how badly this reunion is going to go with Villanelle in tow. She knows it's going to be a disaster, but she figures what the hell. Villanelle wants to meet her mom, and Eve's relationship with her can't exactly get worse...so might as well.

At first glance, her childhood neighbourhood is exactly the same. Same houses, same hedges...same pothole that she always forgets exists until she hits it. Then as they drive along the street in their rented Subaru she realizes there's one key difference. The Yangs are not the only Asian Americans anymore. There's at least three other families here now. When they pull up to the house, one of them even waves at her.

“Friends of yours?” comments Villanelle as she gets out of the car.

“We don't _all_ know each other,” says Eve, annoyed. She thought Villanelle was better than that.

Villanelle gives her a funny look. “Well, they seem to know _you_. They're coming over now.”

Eve turns to see that she's right, and upon closer inspection, realizes that she _does_ in fact know them. They're her freaking cousins family. When the hell did they move in across the street from her mother? She wants to apologize to Villanelle for her remark. She's on edge about seeing her mother again. And apparently her cousin Reggie.

“Peevie Evie!” exclaims Reggie, arms widespread.

She hates that nickname. And she especially hates the look on Villanelle's face. She's going to tease her about this mercilessly.

“How's it going cuz?” He pulls her into a bear hug and lifts her off her feet. Something else she absolutely hates. Thankfully it's short lived and she's soon concrete bound once more. “Long time no see. Your mom didn't say you were coming.”

Of course not. She also neglected to mention your presence.

“Oh you know...umma's not always the most forthcoming.”

“That's true,” he smiles.

Not being well acquainted with the rest of his family, she exchanges polite, formal greetings with them. With that accomplished, there was nothing left to do but have all eyes land on Villanelle.

“So...who's your friend?” asks Reggie, looking at her curiously.

Villanelle was dressed in another of her flamboyant pantsuits, this one was a floral design. Her hair was done up immaculately, jade chopsticks crisscrossed in back. Eve was kind of annoyed about that but Villanelle wouldn't take them out, claiming they pulled the whole outfit together. Eve supposes she should be thankful she hadn't insisted on wearing a freaking Hanbok.

Villanelle gives her an amused look, content to let Eve decide how she wants to play this. The one time Eve wishes Villanelle would take control of the situation, she holds back. Great.

She decides to be blunt. Her forte.

“This is my girlfriend. Oksana.”

There's an awkward silence and then Villanelle holds out her hand to Reggie, which he accepts as if in a daze. “Nice to meet you,” she says, shaking firmly, smiling widely.

Her cousin blinks at Villanelle. Then looks to Eve. “Weren't you married?”

The, 'to a man', isn't said, but strongly implied.

“I was. I'm not anymore.” Another few beats of awkward and then, “Anyway, it was nice seeing you again, but we've had a long journey and I'd like to rest now.”

“Of course,” says Reggie still staring at them strangely.

A pleasant prelude to what was to come.

Once they leave, Villanelle grabs her gift from the trunk – Eve was reasonably assured it wouldn't be another dildo - and then they make their way to the front door. Eve takes several deep breaths before ringing the doorbell.

Her mom takes her sweet time answering. When she does, they stare at one another for several interminable seconds. She seems to have barely aged since Eve last saw her, which was the common, but pretty much _true_ stereotype about Asian women. She was hardly a mirror image of Eve, but she was still trim with a full head of hair, albeit greying. Normally her mom had a better fashion sense than her, but since Villanelle had taken to dressing her more and more as of late, she was actually looking pretty fetching today, she thought.

Her mom's gaze flickers to Villanelle briefly, then back to Eve. “So...you're _gay_ now,” she says in Korean, unimpressed. “That's your big news?”

These are the first words her mom has spoken to her face in years.

“No, mom, I'm not gay,” she replies back, in English.

“Sure looks like it to me,” says her mom, glancing at Villanelle again. “I'll give you one thing. She's pretty. For a-”

“Don't. Don't finish that sentence,” chastises Eve in Korean. It's probably a bit rusty and she's sure her mom will critique her pronunciation at a later date, but for now, she says nothing.

They're not even in the door yet, and already she's getting a tension headache and wants to turn around and leave.

“I was going to say lesbian.”

“That's _not_ better,” groans Eve. “ _Or_ accurate. She's...” Eve pauses, she doesn't know the word in Korean, so she says it in English, “bisexual. So am I.”

Her mom seems confused. “What does that one mean again? There's so many of these terms nowadays. I can never keep up.”

“It means we like both men and women.”

“So...you both like men...but decided to be with each other instead?”

Her mom looks at her like she's an alien with very bizarre customs that could never be fathomed by humankind.

“Yes,” she answers tersely, doing her best to keep her composure.

Her mom's next comment nearly has her swearing.

“If you were going to choose a woman....couldn't she have been a nice Korean girl?”

She's almost glad Villanelle doesn't know what they're saying. The last thing she needs is Keiko being brought up in front of her mother. Not that Keiko is Korean...but still...

“Mom, I'm 42,” she complains. “I'm quite capable of choosing who I want to be with. And this is incredibly rude you know, not inviting us in...conversing like this in front of her.”

“Come in, come in,” says her mom in English, stepping aside. “Make sure to-”

Villanelle is already removing her shoes and putting the guest slippers on, even before Eve herself thinks to.

“Well, I'll give you another thing,” she says to Eve in Korean. “She's got manners.”

That was almost funny. Villanelle having manners.

They're ushered into the kitchen where a pot of Boricha is already steaming away. Her mom isn't so old fashioned anymore as to be sitting on the floor. However, Eve thinks this is probably more to do with her age, and her bad hip, then anything else. She wasn't one to give up traditions easily.

Villanelle hands over her gift. Her mom accepts it without a word, but she _does_ accept it. So that's something, right?

Then she pours them both a cup of the barley tea. To which Villanelle thanks her...in Korean. Perfect Korean.

“I haven't had this in years,” says Villanelle, still in Korean. She breaths in the scent and then takes a sip. She looks to her mom, who is almost staring back open mouthed. “It's very good. Did you make this yourself, Ms. Yang? Or did you buy it?”

“Made it. Old family recipe.”

“Well, you'll have to give me the recipe then so I can enjoy this delicious brew whenever I feel like it.” Villanelle flashes her a smile for good measure.

“When did you...” trails off Eve, flabbergasted. Just how many languages did she know?

“I had a job in South Korea once,” explains Villanelle after taking another tentative sip. “I learned enough to get by. And then after the... _incident_...I had a lot of time to kill.” She gives Eve an unreadable expression. “For some reason I kept thinking of you.”

Her mom was probably very puzzled by this interaction. It might have seemed sweet to an outsider. Eve had a funny feeling the only thing her mom cared about was that Villanelle was fluent in her native language.

And sure enough...

“How old are you, dear?”

Dear? Seriously? Even Eve never got _ dear _ .

“You barely look old enough to drive.”

Her mom gives her a pointed look, as if to say, _cradle robber_ , and Villanelle laughs.

“I'm 26. 27 come spring. But you know what they say...dragons _spring_ forth from streams.”

And then her mom laughed. Actually laughed. It wasn't even a funny 'joke'. Eve couldn't remember the last time she had heard her mom laugh. Certainly not since before her father died. And even then, sparingly.

“You consider yourself to be a dragon then...?”

“Oksana. And yes, I do.”

Her mom looks to her again and says, “I like this girl, Eve.”

Of course she does. Now that she knows Villanelle is loaded, why wouldn't she?

And then Villanelle and her mother proceed to talk in rapid fire Korean that Eve is having trouble following. She thinks it's mostly about her, but she's not sure, and it's incredibly annoying that she can't really join in fast enough to get a word in edgewise.

Finally, the tea comes to an end, and her mom heads off to play Batoo, the Korean version of Go, leaving them alone for the first time in her childhood home. Despite their falling out, there's pictures of Eve everywhere at various ages, and predictably Villanelle spends a good ten minutes laughing at the terrible haircuts and outfits her mom used to put her in as a child.

“She loved you,” grumbles Eve as they're unpacking their things, specifically their pyjamas and toiletries.

“You're surprised?”

“Frankly, yes. I didn't think she'd be so...accepting.”

She honestly hadn't even expected to make it through the front door, and here they were, invited to stay the night...or longer.

“I guess I just have a way with older women,” answers Villanelle cheekily, which causes Eve to throw a pair of socks at her. Villanelle easily dodges.

“You actually behaved yourself.”

If she sounds a little awed, it's because she is.

“Wanted to make a good impression,” shrugs Villanelle, like it's no big deal. Like she could theoretically do this all the time but actively chooses _not_ to.

Eve finishes taking out everything she'll need for the night and then remembers something.

“What were you two talking about when I went to the bathroom?” When Villanelle doesn't respond, Eve freezes and continues, “You weren't asking for her _blessing_ were you?”

Villanelle snorts at that. “Seriously, Eve? Not everything's about you.”

“Sure sounded like it,” she mutters under her breath. She can feel Villanelle looking at her. “I just thought...well, it was kind of _random_ that you wanted to see her. And you brought a nice gift and everything...”

“I didn't ask for her blessing.”

“Oh.”

A lengthy pause.

“She gave it to me anyway.”

And that's when Eve knows for sure that she's entered _The Twilight Zone_.

“She gave you her blessing out of the blue? Unprompted? _You_? A woman? A white woman? A young white woman? You're fucking with me, aren't you?”

“Nope. She just looked me in the eye and said, ' _We haven't known each other long, but I have a good feeling about you. If you love my daughter as much as I think you do, I wouldn't say no to wedding bells.”_

Eve throws some more socks at her. This time Villanelle lets herself get hit.

“What was that for?”

“That was a fucking line from that fucking movie. Remember, the one you _fake_ proposed before? _That_ ringing any _bells_?”

“Okay, you got me,” relents Villanelle with a smirk. “She didn't say that. But she _did_ give me her blessing. I'm not lying about that part.”

Eve is pretty sure she is actually telling the truth. Which makes zero sense.

“I don't get it.”

“What's not to get?” She puts her knuckles on her hips and puffs out her chest slightly like she's trying to be Superman. “I'm amazing.”

“No, there's something else going on here,” she says suspiciously, moving right up to Villanelle to stare her down. “And I _will_ get down to the bottom of it. Or you could save me the trouble and spill the beans.”

“Where's the fun in that?” grins Villanelle.

“You promised her something, didn't you?” It only takes a few seconds for the answer to this riddle to dawn on her. There was really only _one_ thing her mother had wanted for years now. “Oh God, did you promise to give her gra ndkids?”

Villanelle freezes in place like she's been struck by lightning. “What? Don't be ridiculous, Eve,” says Villanelle, smile faltering slightly.

“You did, didn't you?” says Eve wide-eyed. “You promised her we'd adopt some nice little Korean babies...didn't you?”

“I didn't promise her anything, Eve,” answers Villanelle, shifting in place, a little uncomfortable now. “I just made certain... _comments_ about your nieces and nephews. If she interpreted them incorrectly, it's not _my_ fault.”

“Oh my God.” She grabs Villanelle's shoulders and shakes her a bit. “Do you realize what you've done? She's never going to stop calling me now. She's going to call me everyday asking where her grandchildren are!”

“Change your number,” offers Villanelle meekly.

“I can't change my number!” she yells, shaking her some more. “She'll think I died! You've ruined my life!” They both flinch at that outburst, a sore point between them. Eve's hands trail down her arms until she's able to take Villanelle's hands and squeeze them. “Oksana...you know I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know.”

Eve sighs, rests her forehead against Villanelle's cheek. “Now what?”

“Now I make you come a bunch of times on your childhood bed and you forgive me?”

Despite the shivers this proposition elicits, Eve pulls back to glare at her. “Is that your solution to everything? Sex?”

“Well, death is off the table, so...” smirks Villanelle.

Eve rolls her eyes, shakes her head, but also begrudgingly smiles. “Okay.”

“Okay?” says Villanelle raising both eyebrows. “You actually want to-”

“What can I say, I'm feeling frisky,” answers Eve, lifting her shirt over her head. “And it's about time that bed saw some action.”

“I guess you weren't very popular in school then?” says Villanelle also removing her shirt. “Not surprised. You were kind of ugly back then.” She makes a face. “And that _hair_.”

Eve decides to let that slide.

“Oh, I had my fun, Oksana, but never _here_.” She pulls her pants down. “Mom would've killed me if she'd caught me with a boy. She doesn't scare me now though.”

Villanelle chuckles as she continues to strip. “Let's hope she doesn't catch us. Don't want to tarnish my _sparkling_ reputation already.”

Eve gets on the bed. “Enough talking. Get your _young_ ass over here.”

Villanelle looks her up and down appraisingly. “I like it when you get bossy. Very sexy.”

“What did I _just_ say?”

Villanelle zips her lips closed and crawls on the bed. She hovers over Eve, propped up on her knees and elbows. She makes no move to kiss her, or do anything at all.

“Well?” Villanelle simply continues to look at her and Eve sighs. “Fine, you can talk. What is it?”

“I just wanted to thank you for bringing me here. You didn't have to. I know it wasn't easy. But I'm glad you did. It was very educational.” She twirls a finger in her curls. “Now I know what to expect when you're old and grey.”

The implication of this remark hits her hard. For a second, her heart melts.

And then as always, Villanelle ruins it.

“Your mom's hot!” she declares loudly. “If things don't work out between _us_ then-”

Eve puts her hand to her face and shoves. Villanelle mockingly falls over and puts on a greatly affronted look.

“Why I never,” says Villanelle in a heavy southern accent. “I do declare you are the most uncouth lady I ever did lay my pretty little eyes on.”

“Do you ever stop?” groans Eve, thumping the bed in frustration.

“I shan't think so, milady, not when there are demons afoot!” exclaims Villanelle in a deep voice, springing to her feet. On the bed. She places a hand to her chest. “And thou hast cast a strong curse upon mine heart. Rue the day I met thee! For thy love is like poisonous wine and-”

Eve starts to roll off the bed, but Villanelle quickly drops down and secures her within the cage of her body.

“Wow, you really are _Peevie_ , aren't you, _Evie_?”

Eve pinches her side and Villanelle yelps.

“Okay, okay, I'm done.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yup.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Good. Now shut up and kiss me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you can tell I don't know how to end things looool. Might add to this periodically. We'll see.
> 
> I was going to have V actually mess with E...put fake blood in the box...but I figured it wasn't actually necessary. So then I didn't have E retaliate with a postcard and pretending she had left V and having that backfire horribly. :p
> 
> 'Dragons spring forth from streams' isn't the actual saying but it basically means rags to riches


End file.
